Firebrand 
Trevison 


Charles 
Aldeiv 


-U 


OEOJOMEra 


"FIREBRAND"  TREVISON 


Instinctively  each  knew  the  other  for  a  foe 


age  25} 


"FIREBRAND" 
TREVISON 


By 

CHARLES  ALDEN  SELTZER 

Author  of  "The  Range  Boss,"  "The  Boss  of  the  Lazy  Y, 
"  The  Vengeance  of  Jefferson  Gawne,"  Etc. 


Illustrated  by 

P.  V.  E.  IVORY 


CHICAGO 
A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1918 


Copyright 
A    C.  McClurg  &  Co. 

1918 


Published  September,  1918 
Copyrighted  in  Gnat  Britain 


•  :  '   *l>i-.*  ':   ..•/•*•.  ,.v 


W.  F.  HAUL  PRINTING  COMPANY.  CHICA3O 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  The  Rider  of  the  Black  Horse     .    .  £f|  .  g  -,-;-        I 

II  In  Which  Hatred  Is  Born     .      .      .      .      .  10 

III  Beating  a  Good  Man  .      .      .      .      .    •„     .  30 

IV  The  Long  Arm  of  Power 42 

V  A  Telegram  and  a  Girl     .      .      .      .      .      .  53 

VI  A  Judicial  Puppet  .      .      ..      .      .      ..  71 

VII  Two   Letters  Go  East     .      .      .      .    >     .  79 

VIII  The  Chaos  of  Creation      .      .      ,      .      .      .  82 

IX  Straight  Talk    .      .      .      .      .      .      ...      .  93 

X  The  Spirit  of  Manti         100 

XI  For  the  "  Kiddies "      '.      .     V    -.      .     -.      .  109 

XII  Exposed  to  the  Sunlight     ......  113 

XIII  Another  Letter 130 

XIV  A  Rumble  of  War .137 

XV  A  Mutual  Benefit  Association     .      .      .      .  146 

XVI  Wherein  a  Woman  Lies 151 

XVII  Justice  vs.  Law 155 

XVIII  Law  Invoked  and  Defied    .      .      .      .      .      .  169 

XIX  A  Woman  Rides  in  Vain 183 

XX  And  Rides  Again  —  in  Vain    .      .      .      .      .  192 

XXI  Another  Woman^  Rides 209 

XXII  A  Man  Errs  —  and  Pays    ......  221 

XXIII  First  Principles 234 

XXIV  Another  Woman  Lies 253 


M20Q40 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXV     In  the  Dark     .      .     . 264 

XXVI    The  Ashes «     ....     273 

XXVII     The  Fight 290 

XXVIII     The  Dregs 310 

XXIX  The  Calm  .                                        ...     321 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 
Instinctively  each  knew  the  other  for  a  foe     .       .  Frontispiece 

"You  are  going  to  marry  me  —  some  day.     That's  what 

I  think  of  you!"         .      ,      .      .     V     ,      .     97 

"You  men  are  blind.     Corrigan  is  a  crook  who  will  stop 

at  nothing"    .      .      „ 283 


Firebrand"  Trevison 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  RIDER  OF  THE  BLACK  HORSE 

THE  trail  from  the  Diamond  K  broke  around  the 
base  of  a  low  hill  dotted  thickly  with  scraggly  oak 
and  fir,  then  stretched  away,  straight  and  almost  level 
(except  for  a  deep  cut  where  the  railroad  gang  and  a 
steam  shovel  were  eating  into  a  hundred-foot  hill)  to 
Manti.  A  month  before,  there  had  been  no  Manti,  and 
six  months  before  that  there  had  been  no  railroad.  The 
railroad  and  the  town  had  followed  in  the  wake  of  a 
party  of  khaki-clad  men  that  had  made  reasonably  fast 
progress  through  the  country,  leaving  a  trail  of  wooden 
stakes  and  little  stone  monuments  behind.  Previously, 
an  agent  of  the  railroad  company  had  bartered  through, 
securing  a  right-of-way.  The  fruit  of  the  efforts  of 
these  men  was  a  dark  gash  on  a  sun-scorched  level, 
and  two  lines  of  steel  laid  as  straight  as  skilled  eye  and 
transit  could  make  them  —  and  Manti. 

Manti  could  not  be  overlooked,  for  the  town  ob 
truded  upon  the  vision  from  where  "  Brand  "  Trevison 
was  jogging  along  the  Diamond  K  trail  astride  his  big 
black  horse,  Nigger.  Manti  dominated  the  landscape, 


FIREBRAND"   TREASON 


/iot  because  it  was  big  and  imposing,  but  because  it 
was  new.  Manti's  buildings  were  scattered  —  there  had 
been  no  need  for  crowding;  but  from  a  distance  —  from 
Trevison's  distance,  for  instance,  which  was  a  matter 
of  three  miles  or  so  —  Manti  looked  insignificant,  toy- 
like,  in  comparison  with  the  vast  world  on  whose  bosom 
it  sat.  Manti  seemed  futile,  ridiculous.  But  Trevison 
knew  that  the  coming  of  the  railroad  marked  an  epoch, 
that  the  two  thin,  thread-like  lines  of  steel  were  the 
tentacles  of  the  man-made  monster  that  had  gripped 
the  East — business  reaching  out  for  newer  fields  —  and 
that  Manti,  futile  and  ridiculous  as  it  seemed,  was  an 
outpost  fortified  by  unlimited  resource.  Manti  had 
come  to  stay. 

And  the  cattle  business  was  going,  Trevison  knew. 
The  railroad  company  had  built  corrals  at  Manti,  and 
Trevison  knew  they  would  be  needed  for  several  years 
to  come.  But  he  could  foresee  the  day  when  they 
would  be  replaced  by  building  and  factory.  Business 
was  extending  its  lines,  cattle  must  retreat  before  them. 
Several  homesteaders  had  already  appeared  in  the 
country,  erecting  fences  around  their  claims.  One  of 
the  homesteaders,  when  Trevison  had  come  upon  him 
a  few  days  before,  had  impertinently  inquired  why 
Trevison  did  not  fence  the  Diamond  K  range.  Fence 
in  five  thousand  acres!  It  had  never  been  done  in 
this  section  of  the  country.  Trevison  had  permitted 
himself  a  cold  grin,  and  had  kept  his  answer  to  him 
self.  The  incident  was  not  important,  but  it  fore 
shadowed  a  day  when  a  dozen  like  inquiries  would  make 
the  building  of  a  range  fence  imperative. 


THE  RIDER  OF  THE  BLACK  HORSE      3 

Trevison  already  felt  the  irritation  of  congestion  — 
the  presence  of  the  homesteaders  nettled  him.  He 
frowned  as  he  rode.  A  year  ago  he  would  have  sold 
out — cattle,  land  and  buildings  —  at  the  market  price. 
But  at  that  time  he  had  not  known  the  value  of  his 
land.  Now — 

He  kicked  Nigger  in  the  ribs  and  straightened  in  the 
saddle,  grinning. 

"She's  not  for  sale  now — eh,  Nig?" 

Five  minutes  later  he  halted  the  black  at  the  crest 
of  the  big  railroad  cut  and  looked  over  the  edge  apprais- 
ingly.  Fifty  laborers  —  directed  by  a  mammoth  per 
sonage  in  dirty  blue  overalls,  boots,  woolen  shirt,  and  a 
wide-brimmed  felt  hat,  and  with  a  face  undeniably 
Irish  —  were  working  frenziedly  to  keep  pace  with  the 
huge  steam  shovel,  whose  iron  jaws  were  biting  into 
the  earth  with  a  regularity  that  must  have  been  dis 
couraging  to  its  human  rivals.  A  train  of  flat-cars, 
almost  loaded,  was  on  the  track  of  the  cut,  and  a  dinky 
engine  attached  to  them  wheezed  steam  from  a  safety 
valve,  the  engineer  and  fireman  lounging  out  of  the 
cab  window,  lazily  watching. 

Patrick  Carson,  the  personage  —  construction  boss, 
good-natured,  keen,  observant  —  was  leaning  against 
a  boulder  at  the  side  of  the  track,  talking  to  the  engineer 
at  the  instant  Trevison  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  cut. 
He  glanced  up,  his  eyes  lighting. 

"There's  thot  mon,  Trevison,  ag'in,  Murph',"  he 
said  to  the  engineer.  "  Bedad,  he's  a  pitcher  now, 
ain't  he?" 

An  imposing  figure  Trevison  certainly  was.     Horse 


"FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 


and  rider  were  outlined  against  the  sky,  and  in  the  clear 
light  every  muscle  and  feature  of  man  and  beast  stood 
out  boldly  and  distinctly.  The  big  black  horse  was  a 
powerful  brute,  tall  and  rangy,  with  speed  and  cour 
age  showing  plainly  in  contour,  nostril  and  eye;  and 
with  head  and  ears  erect  he  stood  motionless,  stat 
uesque,  heroic.  His  rider  seemed  to  have  been  pro 
portioned  to  fit  the  horse.  Tall,  slender  of  waist, 
broad  of  shoulder,  straight,  he  sat  loosely  in  the  saddle 
looking  at  the  scene  below  him,  unconscious  of  the 
admiration  he  excited.  Poetic  fancies  stirred  Carson 
vaguely. 

"  Luk  at  'im  now,  Murph ;  wid  his  big  hat,  his  leather 
pants,  his  spurs,  an'  the  rist  av  his  conthraptions ! 
There's  a  divvil  av  a  conthrast  here  now,  if  ye'd  only 
glimpse  it.  This  civillyzation,  ripraysinted  be  this  rail 
road,  don't  seem  to  fit,  noways.  It's  like  it  had  butted 
into  a  pitcher  book!  Ain't  he  a  darlin'?" 

"  I've  never  seen  him  up  close,"  said  Murphy.  There 
was  none  of  Carson's  enthusiasm  in  his  voice.  "  It's 
always  seemed  to  me  that  a  felluh  who  rigs  himself  out 
like  that  has  got  a  lot  of  show-off  stuff  in  him." 

"The  first  time  I  clapped  me  eyes  on  wan  av  them 
cowbhoys  I  thought  so,  too,"  said  Carson.  'That  was 
back  on  the  other  section.  But  I  seen  so  manny  av 
them  rigged  out  like  thot,  thot  I  comminced  to  askin' 
questions.  It's  a  domned  purposeful  rig,  mon.  The 
big  felt  hat  is  a  daisy  for  keepin'  off  the  sun,  an'  that 
gaudy  bit  av  a  rag  around  his  neck  keeps  the  sun  and 
sand  from  blisterin'  the  skin.  The  leather  pants  is 
to  keep  his  legs  from  gettin'  clawed  up  be  the  thorns 


THE  RIDER  OF  THE  BLACK  HORSE   5 

av  prickly  pear  an'  what  not,  which  he's  got  to  ride 
through,  an'  the  high  heels  is  to  keep  his  feet  from 
slippin'  through  the  stirrups.  A  kid  c'ud  tell  ye  what 
he  carries  the  young  cannon  for,  an'  why  he  wears  it 
so  low  on  his  hip.  Ye've  nivver  seen  him  up  close,  eh 
Murph '  ?  Well,  I'm  askin'  him  down  so's  ye  can  have 
a  good  look  at  him."  He  stepped  back  from  the 
boulder  and  waved  a  hand  at  Trevison,  shouting: 

"Make  it  a  real  visit,  bhoy!" 

"  I'll  be  pullin'  out  of  here  before  he  can  get  around," 
said  Murphy,  noting  that  the  last  car  was  almost  filled. 

Carson  chuckled.     "Hold  tight,"  he  warned;  "he's 


comin'.' 


The  side  of  the  cut  was  steep,  and  the  soft  sand  and 
clay  did  not  make  a  secure  footing.  But  when  the  black 
received  the  signal  from  Trevison  he  did  not  hesitate. 
Crouching  like  a  great  cat  at  the  edge,  he  slid  his  fore 
legs  over  until  his  hoofs  sank  deep  into  the  side  of  the 
cut.  Then  with  a  gentle  lurch  he  drew  his  hind  legs 
after  him,  and  an  instant  later  was  gingerly  descending, 
his  rider  leaning  far  back  in  the  saddle,  the  reins  held 
loosely  in  his  hands. 

It  looked  simple  enough,  the  way  the  black  was  doing 
it,  and  Trevison's  demeanor  indicated  perfect  trust  in 
the  animal  and  in  his  own  skill  as  a  rider.  But  the 
laborers  ceased  working  and  watched,  grouped,  ges 
turing;  the  staccato  coughing  of  the  steam  shovel  died 
gaspingly,  as  the  engineer  shut  off  the  engine  and  stood, 
rooted,  his  mouth  agape;  the  fireman  in  the  dinky 
engine  held  tightly  to  the  cab  window.  Murphy  mut 
tered  in  astonishment,  and  Carson  chuckled  admiringly, 


FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 


for  the  descent  was  a  full  hundred  feet,  and  there  were 
few  men  in  the  railroad  gang  that  would  have  dared  to 
risk  the  wall  on  foot. 

The  black  had  gained  impetus  with  distance.  A  third 
of  the  slope  had  been  covered  when  he  struck  some 
loose  earth  that  shifted  with  his  weight  and  carried 
his  hind  quarters  to  one  side  and  off  balance.  Instantly 
the  rider  swung  his  body  toward  the  wall  of  the  cut, 
twisted  in  the  saddle  and  swung  the  black  squarely 
around,  the  animal  scrambling  like  a  cat.  The  black 
stood,  braced,  facing  the  crest  of  the  cut,  while  the 
dislodged  earth,  preceded  by  pebbles  and  small  boul 
ders,  clattered  down  behind  him.  Then,  under  the 
urge  of  Trevison's  gentle  hand  and  voice,  the  black 
wheeled  again  and  faced  the  descent. 

"  I  wouldn't  ride  a  horse  down  there  for  the  damned 
railroad!"  declared  Murphy. 

"  Thrue  for  ye  —  ye  c'udn't,"  grinned  Carson. 

"  A  man  could  ride  anywhere  with  a  horse  like  that !  " 
remarked  the  fireman,  fascinated, 

"  Ye'd  have  brought  a  cropper  in  that  slide,  an'  the 
road  wud  be  minus  a  coal-heaver!"  said  Carson. 
"Wud  ye  Ink  at  him  now!" 

The  black  was  coming  down,  forelegs  asprawl,  his 
hind  quarters  sliding  in  the  sand.  Twice  as  his  fore- 
hoofs  struck  some  slight  obstruction  his  hind  quarters 
lifted  and  he  stood,  balanced,  on  his  forelegs,  and  each 
time  Trevison  averted  the  impending  catastrophe  by 
throwing  himself  far  back  in  the  saddle  and  slapping 
the  black's  hips  sharply. 

"He's  a  circus  rider!"  shouted  Carson,  gleefully. 


THE  RIDER  OF  THE  BLACK  HORSE      7 

"He's  got  the  coolest  head  of  anny  mon  I  iver  seen! 
He's  a  diwil,  thot  mon ! " 

The  descent  was  spectacular,  but  it  was  apparent 
that  Trevison  cared  little  for  its  effect  upon  his  audi 
ence,  for  as  he  struck  the  level  and  came  riding  toward 
Carson  and  the  others,  there  was  no  sign  of  self-con 
sciousness  in  his  face  or  manner.  He  smiled  faintly, 
though,  as  a  cheer  from  the  laborers  reached  his  ears. 
In  the  next  instant  he  had  halted  Nigger  near  the  dinky 
engine,  and  Carson  was  introducing  him  to  the  engi 
neer  and  fireman. 

Looking  at  Trevison  "  close  up,"  Murphy  was  con 
strained  to  mentally  label  him  "  some  man,"  and  he 
regretted  his  deprecatory  words  of  a  few  minutes 
before.  Plainly,  there  was  no  "  show-off  stuff "  in 
Trevison.  His  feat  of  riding  down  the  wall  of  the  cut 
had  not  been  performed  to  impress  anyone;  the  look 
of  reckless  abandon  in  the  otherwise  serene  eyes  that 
held  Murphy's  steadily,  convinced  the  engineer  that  the 
man  had  merely  responded  to  a  dare-devil  impulse. 
There  was  something  in  Trevison's  appearance  that 
suggested  an  entire  disregard  of  fear.  The  engineer 
had  watched  the  face  of  a  brother  of  his  craft  one  night 
when  the  latter  had  been  driving  a  roaring  monster 
down  a  grade  at  record-breaking  speed  into  a  wall  of 
rain-soaked  darkness  out  of  which  might  thunder  at 
any  instant  another  roaring  monster,  coming  in  the 
opposite  direction.  There  had  been  a  mistake  in  orders, 
and  the  train  was  running  against  time  to  make  a 
switch.  Several  times  during  the  ride  Murphy  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  engineer's  face,  and  the  eyes 


FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 


had  haunted  him  since  —  defiance  of  death,  contempt 
of  consequences,  had  been  reflected  in  them.  Trevison's 
eyes  reminded  him  of  the  engineer's.  But  in  Trev 
ison's  eyes  was  an  added  expression  —  cold  humor. 
The  engineer  of  Murphy's  recollection  would  have  met 
death  dauntlessly.  Trevison  would  meet  it  no  less 
dauntlessly,  but  would  mock  at  it.  Murphy  looked 
long  and  admiringly  at  him,  noting  the  deep  chest,  the 
heavy  muscles,  the  blue-black  sheen  of  his  freshly- 
shaven  chin  and  jaw  under  the  tan;  the  firm,  mobile 
mouth,  the  aggressive  set  to  his  head.  Murphy  set  his 
age  down  at  twenty-seven  or  twenty-eight.  Murphy 
was  sixty  himself  —  the  age  that  appreciates,  and 
secretly  envies,  the  virility  of  youth.  Carson  was  com 
plimenting  Trevison  on  his  descent  of  the  wall  of  the 
cut. 

"You're  a  daisy  rider,  me  bhoy!  " 

"  Nigger's  a  clever  horse,"  smiled  Trevison.  Mur 
phy  was  pleased  that  he  was  giving  the  animal  the 
credit.  "  Nigger's  well  trained.  He's  wiser  than  some 
men.  Tricky,  too."  He  patted  the  sleek,  muscular 
neck  of  the  beast  and  the  animal  whinnied  gently. 
"He's  careful  of  his  master,  though,"  laughed  Trev 
ison.  "A  man  pulled  a  gun  on  me,  right  after  I'd  got 
Nigger.  He  had  the  drop,  and  he  meant  business.  I 
had  to  shoot.  To  disconcert  the  fellow,  I  had  to  jump 
Nigger  against  him.  Since  then,  whenever  Nigger  sees 
a  gun  in  anyone's  hand,  he  thinks  it's  time  to  bowl  that 
man  over.  There's  no  holding  him.  He  won't  even 
stand  for  anyone  pulling  a  handkerchief  out  of  a  hip 
pocket  when  I'm  on  him."  Trevison  grinned.  "Try 


THE  RIDER  OF  THE  BLACK  HORSE      9 

it,  Carson,  but  get  that  boulder  between  you  and  Nig 
ger  before  you  do." 

"I  don't  like  the  look  av  the  baste's  eye,"  declined 
the  Irishman.  "  I  wudn't  doubt  ye're  worrud  for  the 
wurrold.  But  he  wudn't  jump  a  mon  divvil  a  bit  quicker 
than  his  master,  or  I'm  a  sinner! " 

Trevison's  eyes  twinkled.  "  You're  a  good  construc 
tion  boss,  Carson.  But  I'm  glad  to  see  that  you're  get 
ting  more  considerate." 

"Av  what?" 

uOf  your  men."  Trevison  glanced  back;  he  had 
looked  once  before,  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye.  The 
laborers  were  idling  in  the  cut,  enjoying  the  brief  rest, 
taking  advantage  of  Carson's  momentary  dereliction, 
for  the  last  car  had  been  filled. 

"  I'll  be  rayported  yet,  begob  !  " 

Carson  waved  his  hands,  and  the  laborers  dove  for 
the  flat-cars.  When  the  last  man  was  aboard,  the 
engine  coughed  and  moved  slowly  away.  Carson 
climbed  into  the  engine-cab,  with  a  shout:  "So-long 
bhoy!  "  to  Trevison.  The  latter  held  Nigger  with  a 
firm  rein,  for  the  animal  was  dancing  at  the  noise  made 
by  the  engine,  and  as  the  cars  filed  past  him,  running 
faster  now,  the  laborers  grinned  at  him  and  respect 
fully  raised  their  hats.  For  they  had  come  from  one 
of  the  Latin  countries  of  Europe,  and  for  them,  in  the 
person  of  this  heroic  figure  of  a  man  who  had  ridden 
his  horse  down  the  steep  wall  of  the  cut,  was  romance. 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  WHICH  HATRED  IS  BORN 

FOR  some  persons  romance  dwells  in  the  new  and 
the  unusual,  and  for  other  persons  it  dwells  not 
at  all.  Certain  of  Rosalind  Benham's  friends  would 
have  been  able  to  see  nothing  but  the  crudities  and 
squalor  of  Manti,  viewing  it  as  Miss  Benham  did, 
from  one  of  the  windows  of  her  father's  private  car, 
which  early  that  morning  had  been  shunted  upon  a 
switch  at  the  outskirts  of  town.  Those  friends  would 
have  seen  nothing  but  a  new  town  of  weird  and  pic 
turesque  buildings,  with  more  saloons  than  seemed  to 
be  needed  in  view  of  the  noticeable  lack  of  citizens. 
They  would  have  shuddered  at  the  dust-windrowed 
street,  the  litter  of  refuse,  the  dismal  lonesomeness,  the 
forlornness,  the  utter  isolation,  the  desolation.  Those 
friends  would  have  failed  to  note  the  vast,  silent  reaches 
of  green-brown  plain  that  stretched  and  yawned  into 
aching  distances;  the  wonderfully  blue  and  cloudless 
sky  that  covered  it;  they  would  have  overlooked  the 
timber  groves  that  spread  here  and  there  over  the 
face  of  the  land,  with  their  lure  of  mystery.  No 
thoughts  of  the  bigness  of  this  country  would  have 
crept  in  upon  them  —  except  as  they  might  have  been 
reminded  of  the  dreary  distance  from  the  glitter  and 

IO 


IN  WHICH  HATRED  IS  BORN          n 

the  tinsel  of  the  East.  The  mountains,  distant  and 
shining,  would  have  meant  nothing  to  them;  the  strong, 
pungent  aroma  of  the  sage  might  have  nauseated  them. 

But  Miss  Benham  had  caught  her  first  glimpse  of 
Manti  and  the  surrounding  country  from  a  window  of 
her  berth  in  the  car  that  morning  just  at  dawn,  and 
she  loved  it.  She  had  lain  for  some  time  cuddled  up 
in  her  bed,  watching  the  sun  rise  over  the  distant  moun 
tains,  and  the  breath  of  the  sage,  sweeping  into  the 
half-opened  window,  had  carried  with  it  something 
stronger  —  the  lure  of  a  virgin  country. 

Aunt  Agatha  Benham,  chaperon,  forty  —  maiden 
lady  from  choice  —  various  uncharitable  persons  hinted 
humorously  of  pursued  eligibles  —  found  Rosalind  gaz 
ing  ecstatically  out  of  the  berth  window  when  she  stirred 
and  awoke  shortly  after  nine.  Agatha  climbed  out  of 
her  berth  and  sat  on  its  edge,  yawning  sleepily. 

"This  is  Manti,  I  suppose,"  she  said  acridly,  shov 
ing  the  curtain  aside  and  looking  out  of  the  window. 
"We  should  consider  ourselves  fortunate  not  to  have 
had  an  adventure  with  Indians  or  outlaws.  We  have 
that  to  be  thankful  for,  at  least." 

Agatha's  sarcasm  failed  to  penetrate  the  armor  of 
Rosalind's  unconcern  —  as  Agatha's  sarcasms  always 
did.  Agatha  occupied  a  place  in  Rosalind's  affections, 
but  not  in  her  scheme  of  enjoyment.  Since  she  must 
be  chaperoned,  Agatha  was  acceptable  to  her.  But 
that  did  not  mean  that  she  made  a  confidante  of  Agatha. 
For  Agatha  was  looking  at  the  world  through  the  eyes 
of  Forty,  and  the  vision  of  Twenty  is  somewhat  more 
romantic. 


12 "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

"  Whatever  your  father  thought  of  in  permitting 
you  to  come  out  here  is  a  mystery  to  me,"  pursued 
Agatha  severely,  as  she  fussed  with  her  hair.  "  It  was 
like  him,  though,  to  go  to  all  this  trouble  —  for  me  — 
merely  to  satisfy  your  curiosity  about  the  country.  I 
presume  we  shall  be  returning  shortly." 

"Don't  be  impatient,  Aunty,"  said  the  girl,  still  gaz 
ing  out  of  the  window.  "  I  intend  to  stretch  my  legs 
before  I  return." 

"Mercy!"  gasped  Agatha;  "such  language!  This 
barbaric  country  has  affected  you  already,  my  dear. 
Legs!"  She  summoned  horror  into  her  expression, 
but  it  was  lost  on  Rosalind,  who  still  gazed  out  of  the 
window.  Indeed,  from  a  certain  light  in  the  girl's  eyes 
it  might  be  adduced  that  she  took  some  delight  in  shock 
ing  Agatha. 

"I  shall  stay  here  quite  some  time,  I  think,"  said 
Rosalind.  "Daddy  said  there  was  no  hurry;  that  he 
might  come  out  here  in  a  month,  himself.  And  I  have 
been  dying  to  get  away  from  the  petty  conventionalities 
of  the  East.  I  am  going  to  be  absolutely  human  for 
a  while,  Aunty.  I  am  going  to  *  rough  it '  —  that  is,  as 
much  as  one  can  rough  it  when  one  is  domiciled  in  a 
private  car.  I  am  going  to  get  a  horse  and  have  a  look 
at  the  country.  And  Aunty  — "  here  the  girl's  voice 
came  chokingly,  as  though  some  deep  emotion  agitated 
her  "  —  I  am  going  to  ride  'straddle'!" 

She  did  not  look  to  see  whether  Agatha  had  sur 
vived  this  second  shock — but  Agatha  had  survived 
many  such  shocks.  It  was  only  when,  after  a  silence  of 
several  minutes,  Agatha  spoke  again,  that  the  girl 


IN  WHICH  HATRED  IS  BORN          13 

seemed  to  remember  there  was  anybody  in  the  com 
partment  with  her.  Agatha's  voice  was  laden  with 
contempt : 

"Well,  I  don't  know  what  you  see  in  this  outlandish 
place  to  compensate  for  what  you  miss  at  home." 

The  girl  did  not  look  around.  "  A  man  on  a  black 
horse,  Aunty,"  she  said.  "He  has  passed  here  twice. 
I  have  never  seen  such  a  horse.  I  don't  remember  to 
have  ever  seen  a  man  quite  like  the  rider.  He  looks 
positively  —  er  —  heroish!  He  is  built  like  a  Roman 
gladiator,  he  rides  the  black  horse  as  though  he  had 
been  sculptured  on  it,  and  his  head  has  a  set  that  makes 
one  feel  he  has  a  mind  of  his  own.  He  has  furnished 
me  with  the  only  thrill  that  I  have  felt  since  we  left 
New  York!" 

"He  hasn't  seen  you!"  said  Agatha,  coldly;  "of 
course  you  made  sure  of  that?" 

The  girl  looked  mischievously  at  the  older  woman. 
She  ran  her  fingers  through  her  hair — brown  and  vig 
orous-looking —  then  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hands 
and  gazed  at  her  reflection  in  a  mirror  near  by.  In 
deshabille  she  looked  fresh  and  bewitching.  She  had 
looked  like  a  radiant  goddess  to  "Brand"  Trevison, 
when  he  had  accidentally  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  face 
at  the  window  while  she  had  been  watching  him.  He 
had  not  known  that  the  lady  had  just  awakened  from 
her  beauty  sleep.  He  would  have  sworn  that  she 
needed  no  beauty  sleep.  And  he  had  deliberately  rid 
den  past  the  car  again,  hoping  to  get  another  glimpse 
of  her.  The  girl  smiled. 

"  I  am  not  so  positive  about  that,  Aunty.     Let  us 


i4  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

not  be  prudish.  If  he  saw  me,  he  made  no  sign,  and 
therefore  he  is  a  gentleman."  She  looked  out  of  the 
window  and  smiled  again.  u  There  he  is  now,  Aunty !  " 

It  was  Agatha  who  parted  the  curtains,  this  time. 
The  horseman's  face  was  toward  the  window,  and  he 
saw  her.  An  expression  of  puzzled  astonishment 
glowed  in  his  eyes,  superseded  quickly  by  disappoint 
ment,  whereat  Rosalind  giggled  softly  and  hid  her 
tousled  head  in  a  pillow. 

"The  impertinent  brute!  Rosalind,  he  dared  to 
look  directly  at  me,  and  I  am  sure  he  would  have 
winked  at  me  in  another  instant!  A  gentleman  1"  she 
said,  coldly. 

"  Don't  be  severe,  Aunty.  I'm  sure  he  is  a  gentle 
man,  for  all  his  curiosity.  See  —  there  he  is,  riding 
away  without  so  much  as  looking  back!  " 

Half  an  hour  later  the  two  women  entered  the  din 
ing-room  just  as  a  big,  rather  heavy-featured,  but  hand 
some  man,  came  through  the  opposite  door.  He 
greeted  both  ladies  effusively,  and  smilingly  looked  at 
his  watch. 

''You  over-slept  this  morning,  ladies  —  don't  you 
think?  It's  after  ten.  I've  been  rummaging  around 
town,  getting  acquainted.  It's  rather  an  unfinished 
place,  after  the  East.  But  in  time  — "  He  made  a 
gesture,  perhaps  a  silent  prophecy  that  one  day  Manti 
would  out-strip  New  York,  and  bowed  the  ladies  to 
seats  at  table,  talking  while  the  colored  waiter  moved 
obsequiously  about  them. 

"  I  thought  at  first  that  your  father  was  over-enthu 
siastic  about  Manti,  Miss  Benham,"  he  continued. 


IN  WHICH  HATRED  IS  BORN          15 

"  But  the  more  I  see  of  it  the  firmer  becomes  my  con 
viction  that  your  father  was  right.  There  are  tre 
mendous  possibilities  for  growth.  Even  now  it  is  a 
rather  fertile  country.  We  shall  make  it  hum,  once 
the  railroad  and  the  dam  are  completed.  It  is  a  logical 
site  for  a  town  —  there  is  no  other  within  a  hundred 
miles  in  any  direction." 

"And  you  are  to  anticipate  the  town's  growth  — 
isn't  that  it,  Mr.  Corrigan?" 

"You  put  it  very  comprehensively,  Miss  Benham; 
but  perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  say  that  I  am  the 
advance  agent  of  prosperity  —  that  sounds  rather  less 
mercenary.  We  must  not  allow  the  impression  to  get 
abroad  that  mere  money  is  to  be  the  motive  power 
behind  our  efforts. " 

"But  money-making  is  the  real  motive,  after  all?" 
said  Miss  Benham,  dryly. 

"  I  submit  there  are  several  driving  forces  in  life, 
and  that  money-making  is  not  the  least  compelling  of 
them." 

"The  other  forces?"  It  seemed  to  Corrigan  that 
Miss  BenharrTs  face  was  very  serious.  But  Agatha, 
who  knew  Rosalind  better  than  Corrigan  knew  her, 
was  aware  that  the  girl  was  merely  demurely  sarcastic. 

"Love  and  hatred  are  next,"  he  said,  slowly. 

"You  would  place  money-making  before  love?" 
Rosalind  bantered. 

"  Money  adds  the  proper  flavor  to  love,"  laughed 
Corrigan.  The  laugh  was  laden  with  subtle  signifi 
cance  and  he  looked  straight  at  the  girl,  a  deep  fire 
slumbering  in  his  eyes.  "Yes,"  he  said  slowly, 


FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 


"money-making  is  a  great  passion.  I  have  it.  But  I 
can  hate,  and  love.  And  when  I  do  either,  it  will  be 
strongly.  And  then  —  " 

Agatha  cleared  her  throat  impatiently.  Corrigan 
colored  slightly,  and  Miss  Benham  smothered  some 
thing,  artfully  directing  the  conversation  into  less  per 
sonal  channels: 

'  You  are  going  to  build  manufactories,  organize 
banks,  build  municipal  power-houses,  speculate  in  real 
estate,  and  such  things,  I  suppose?" 

"And  build  a  dam.  We  already  have  a  bank  here, 
Miss  Benham." 

"Will  father  be  interested  in  those  things?" 

"  Silently.  You  understand,  that  being  president  of 
the  railroad,  your  father  must  keep  in  the  background. 
The  actual  promoting  of  these  enterprises  will  be  done 
by  me." 

Miss  Benham  looked  dreamily  out  of  the  window. 
Then  she  turned  to  Corrigan  and  gazed  at  him  medi 
tatively,  though  the  expression  in  her  eyes  was  so 
obviously  impersonal  that  it  chilled  any  amorous  emo 
tion  that  Corrigan  might  have  felt. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  she  said.  "  It  must  be 
thrilling  to  feel  a  conscious  power  over  the  destiny  of 
a  community,  to  direct  its  progress,  to  manage  it,  and 
—  er  —  figuratively  to  grab  industries  by  their  —  " 
She  looked  slyly  at  Agatha  "  —  lower  extremities  and 
shake  the  dollars  out  of  them.  Yes,"  she  added, 
with  a  wistful  glance  through  the  window;  athat  must 
be  more  exciting  than  being  merely  in  love." 

Agatha  again  followed  Rosalind's  gaze  and  saw  the 


77V  WHICH  HATRED  IS  BORN          17 

black  horse  standing  in  front  of  a  store.  She  frowned, 
and  observed  stiffly: 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  the  people  in  these  small 
places  —  such  as  Manti  —  are  not  capable  of  manag 
ing  the  large  enterprises  that  Mr.  Corrigan  speaks  of." 
She  looked  at  Rosalind,  and  the  girl  knew  that  she  was 
deprecating  the  rider  of  the  black  horse.  Rosalind 
smiled  sweetly. 

"Oh,  I  am  sure  there  must  be  some  intelligent  per 
sons  among  them ! " 

"As  a  rule,"  stated  Corrigan,  dogmatically,  "the 
first  citizens  of  any  town  are  an  uncouth  and  worthless 
set." 

"  The  Four  Hundred  would  take  exception  to  that  1 " 
laughed  Rosalind. 

Corrigan  laughed  with  her.  "You  know  what  I 
mean,  of  course.  Take  Manti,  for  instance.  Or  any 
new  western  town.  The  lowest  elements  of  society  are 
represented;  most  of  the  people  are  very  ignorant  and 
criminal." 

The  girl  looked  sharply  at  Corrigan,  though  he  was 
not  aware  of  the  glance.  Was  there  a  secret  under 
standing  between  Corrigan  and  Agatha?  Had 
Corrigan  also  some  knowledge  of  the  rider's  pilgrim 
ages  past  the  car  window?  Both  had  maligned  the 
rider.  But  the  girl  had  seen  intelligence  on  the  face 
of  the  rider,  and  something  in  the  set  of  his  head  had 
told  her  that  he  was  not  a  criminal.  And  despite  his 
picturesque  rigging,  and  the  atmosphere  of  the  great 
waste  places  that  seemed  to  envelop  him,  he  had  made 
a  deeper  impression  on  her  than  had  Corrigan,  darkly 


FIREBRAND"   TREF1SON 


handsome,  well-groomed,  a  polished  product  of  polite 
convention  and  breeding,  whom  her  father  wanted  her 
to  marry. 

"Well,"  she  said,  looking  at  the  black  horse;  "I 
intend  to  observe  Manti's  citizens  more  closely  before 
attempting  to  express  an  opinion." 

Half  an  hour  later,  in  response  to  Corrigan's  invi 
tation,  Rosalind  was  walking  down  Manti's  one  street, 
Corrigan  beside  her.  Corrigan  had  donned  khaki  cloth 
ing,  a  broad,  felt  hat,  boots,  neckerchief.  But  in  spite 
of  the  change  of  garments  there  was  a  poise,  an  atmos 
phere  about  him,  that  hinted  strongly  of  the  graces  of 
civilization.  Rosalind  felt  a  flash  of  pride  in  him.  He 
was  big,  masterful,  fascinating. 

Manti  seemed  to  be  fraudulent,  farcical,  upon  closer 
inspection.  For  one  thing,  its  crudeness  was  more  glar 
ing,  and  its  unpainted  board  fronts  looked  flimsy,  tran 
sient.  Compared  to  the  substantial  buildings  of  the 
East,  Manti's  structures  were  hovels.  Here  was  the 
primitive  town  in  the  first  flush  of  its  creation.  Miss 
Benham  did  not  laugh,  for  a  mental  picture  rose  before 
her  —  a  bit  of  wild  New  England  coast,  a  lowering  sky, 
a  group  of  Old-world  pilgrims  shivering  around  a 
blazing  fire  in  the  open,  a  ship  in  the  offing.  That  also 
was  a  band  of  first  citizens;  that  picture  and  the  one 
made  by  Manti  typified  the  spirit  of  America. 

There  were  perhaps  twenty  buildings.  Corrigan  took 
her  into  several  of  them.  But,  she  noted,  he  did  not 
take  her  into  the  store  in  front  of  which  was  the  black 
horse.  She  was  introduced  to  several  of  the  propri 
etors.  Twice  she  overheard  parts  of  the  conversation 


77V  WHICH  HATRED  IS  BORN          19 

carried  on  between  Corrigan  and  the  proprietors.  In 
each  case  the  conversation  was  the  same : 

"  Do  you  own  this  property?  " 

"The  building." 

"Who  owns  the  land?" 

"A  company  in  New  York." 

Corrigan  introduced  himself  as  the  manager  of  the 
company,  and  spoke  of  erecting  an  office.  The  two 
men  spoke  about  their  "leases."  The  latter  seemed 
to  have  been  limited  to  two  months. 

"See  me  before  your  lease  expires,"  she  heard  Cor 
rigan  tell  the  men. 

"  Does  the  railroad  own  the  town  site  ?  "  asked  Ros 
alind  as  they  emerged  from  the  last  store. 

"  Yes.  And  leases  are  going  to  be  more  valuable 
presently." 

"  You  don't  mean  that  you  are  going  to  extort  money 
from  them  —  after  they  have  gone  to  the  expense  of 
erecting  buildings  ?  " 

His  smile  was  pleasant.  "They  will  be  treated  with 
the  utmost  consideration,  Miss  Benham." 

He  ushered  her  into  the  bank.  Like  the  other 
buildings,  the  bank  was  of  frame  construction.  Its 
only  resemblance  to  a  bank  was  in  the  huge  safe  that 
stood  in  the  rear  of  the  room,  and  a  heavy  wire  netting 
behind  which  ran  a  counter.  Some  chairs  and  a  desk 
were  behind  the  counter,  and  at  the  desk  sat  a  man 
of  probably  forty,  who  got  up  at  the  entrance  of  his 
visitors  and  approached  them,  grinning  and  holding 
out  a  hand  to  Corrigan. 

"So  you're  here  at  last,   Jeff,"   he  said.      "I   saw 


20  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

the  car  on  the  switch  this  morning.  The  show  will 
open  pretty  soon  now,  eh?"  He  looked  inquiringly 
at  Rosalind,  and  Corrigan  presented  her.  She  heard 
the  man's  name,  "  Mr.  Crofton  Braman,"  softly 
spoken  by  her  escort,  and  she  acknowledged  the  intro 
duction  formally  and  walked  to  the  door,  where  she 
stood  looking  out  into  the  street. 

Braman  repelled  her  —  she  did  not  know  why.  A 
certain  crafty  gleam  of  his  eyes,  perhaps,  strangely 
blended  with  a  bold  intentness  as  he  had  looked  at  her; 
a  too  effusive  manner;  a  smoothly  ingratiating  smile  — 
these  evidences  of  character  somehow  made  her  link 
him  with  schemes  and  plots. 

She  did  not  reflect  long  over  Braman.  Across  the 
street  she  saw  the  rider  of  the  black  horse  standing 
beside  the  animal  at  a  hitching  rail  in  front  of  the 
store  that  Corrigan  had  passed  without  entering. 
Viewed  from  this  distance,  the  rider's  face  was  more 
distinct,  and  she  saw  that  he  was  good-looking — quite 
as  good-looking  as  Corrigan,  though  of  a  different  type. 
Standing,  he  did  not  seem  to  be  so  tall  as  Corrigan, 
nor  was  he  quite  so  bulky.  But  he  was  lithe  and  power 
ful,  and  in  his  movements,  as  he  unhitched  the  black 
horse,  threw  the  reins  over  its  head  and  patted  its  neck, 
was  an  ease  and  grace  that  made  Rosalind's  eyes  sparkle 
with  admiration. 

The  rider  seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry  to  mount  his 
horse.  The  girl  was  certain  that  twice  as  he  patted 
the  animal's  neck  he  stole  glances  at  her,  and  a  stain 
appeared  in  her  cheeks,  for  she  remembered  the  car 
window. 


IN  WHICH  HATRED  IS  BORN          21 

And  then  she  heard  a  voice  greet  the  rider.  A  man 
came  out  of  the  door  of  one  of  the  saloons,  glanced 
at  the  rider  and  raised  his  voice,  joyously: 

"Well,  if  it  ain't  ol'  'Brand'!  Where  in  hell  you 
been  keepin'  yourself?  I  ain't  seen  you  for  a  week!" 

Friendship  was  speaking  here,  and  the  girl's  heart 
leaped  in  sympathy.  She  watched  with  a  smile  as  the 
other  man  reached  the  rider's  side  and  wrung  his  hand 
warmly.  Such  effusiveness  would  have  been  thought 
hypocritical  in  the  East;  humanness  was  always 
frowned  upon.  But  what  pleased  the  girl  most  was 
this  evidence  that  the  rider  was  well  liked.  Additional 
evidence  on  this  point  collected  quickly.  It  came  from 
several  doors,  in  the  shapes  of  other  men  who  had 
heard  the  first  man's  shout,  and  presently  the  rider 
was  surrounded  by  many  friends. 

The  girl  was  deeply  interested.  She  forgot  Braman, 
Corrigan  —  forgot  that  she  was  standing  in  the  door 
way  of  the  bank.  She  was  seeing  humanity  stripped  of 
conventionalities;  these  people  were  not  governed  by 
the  intimidating  regard  for  public  opinion  that  so  effect 
ively  stifled  warm  impulses  among  the  persons  she 
knew. 

She  heard  another  man  call  to  him,  and  she  found 
herself  saying:  "'Brand'!  What  an  odd  name!  "  But 
it  seemed  to  fit  him;  he  was  of  a  type  that  one  sees 
rarely  —  clean,  big,  athletic,  virile,  magnetic.  His  per 
sonality  dominated  the  group;  upon  him  interest  cen 
tered  heavily.  Nor  did  his  popularity  appear  to  destroy 
his  poise  or  make  him  self-conscious.  The  girl  watched 
closely  for  signs  of  that.  Had  he  shown  the  slightest 


22 "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

trace  of  self-worship  she  would  have  lost  interest  in 
him.  He  appeared  to  be  a  trifle  embarrassed,  and  that 
made  him  doubly  attractive  to  her.  He  bantered  gayly 
with  the  men,  and  several  times  his  replies  to  some 
quip  convulsed  the  others. 

And  then  while  she  dreamily  watched  him,  she  heard 
several  voices  insist  that  he  "  show  Nigger  off."  He 
demurred,  and  when  they  again  insisted,  he  spoke  lowly 
to  them,  and  she  felt  their  concentrated  gaze  upon  her. 
She  knew  that  he  had  declined  to  "  show  Nigger  off  " 
because  of  her  presence.  "  Nigger,"  she  guessed,  was 
his  horse.  She  secretly  hoped  he  would  overcome  his 
prejudice,  for  she  loved  the  big  black,  and  was  certain 
that  any  performance  he  participated  in  would  be  well 
worth  seeing.  So,  in  order  to  influence  the  rider  she 
turned  her  back,  pretending  not  to  be  interested.  But 
when  she  heard  exclamations  of  satisfaction  from  the 
group  of  men  she  wheeled  again,  to  see  that  the  rider 
had  mounted  and  was  sitting  in  the  saddle,  grinning 
at  a  man  who  had  produced  a  harmonica  and  was  rub 
bing  it  on  a  sleeve  of  his  shirt,  preparatory  to  placing 
it  to  his  lips. 

The  rider  had  gone  too  far  now  to  back  out,  and 
Rosalind  watched  him  in  frank  curiosity.  And  in  the 
next  instant,  when  the  strains  of  the  harmonica  smote 
the  still  morning  air,  Nigger  began  to  prance. 

What  followed  reminded  the  girl  of  a  scene  in  the 
ring  of  a  circus.  The  horse,  proud,  dignified,  began 
to  pace  slowly  to  the  time  of  the  accompanying  music, 
executing  difficult  steps  that  must  have  tried  the  patience 
of  both  animal  and  trainer  during  the  teaching  period; 


IN  WHICH  HATRED  IS  BORN          23 

the  rider,  lithe,  alert,  proud  also,  smiling  his  pleasure. 

Rosalind  stood  there  long,  watching.  It  was  a 
clever  exhibition,  and  she  found  herself  wondering 
about  the  rider.  Had  he  always  lived  in  the  West? 

The  animal  performed  a  dozen  feats  of  the  circus 
arena,  and  the  girl  was  so  deeply  interested  in  him  that 
she  did  not  observe  Corrigan  when  he  emerged  from 
the  bank,  stepped  down  into  the  street  and  stood  watch 
ing  the  rider.  She  noticed  him  though,  when  the  black, 
forced  to  her  side  of  the  street  through  the  necessity 
of  executing  a  turn,  passed  close  to  the  easterner.  And 
then,  with  something  of  a  shock,  she  saw  Corrigan 
smiling  derisively.  At  the  sound  of  applause  from  the 
group  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  Corrigan's 
derision  became  a  sneer.  Miss  Benham  felt  resent 
ment;  a  slight  color  stained  her  cheeks.  For  she  could 
not  understand  why  Corrigan  should  show  displeasure 
over  this  clean  and  clever  amusement.  She  was  looking 
full  at  Corrigan  when  he  turned  and  caught  her  gaze. 
The  light  in  his  eyes  wras  positively  venomous. 

"  It  is  a  rather  dramatic  bid  for  your  interest,  isn't 
it,  Miss  Benham?"  he  said. 

His  voice  came  during  a  lull  that  followed  the 
applause.  It  reached  Rosalind,  full  and  resonant.  It 
carried  to  the  rider  of  the  black  horse,  and  glancing  side 
long  at  him,  Rosalind  saw  his  face  whiten  under  the 
deep  tan  upon  it.  It  carried,  too,  to  the  other  side 
of  the  street,  and  the  girl  saw  faces  grow  suddenly 
tense ;  noted  the  stiffening  of  bodies.  The  flat,  ominous 
silence  that  followed  was  unreal  and  oppressive.  Out 
of  it  came  the  rider's  voice  as  he  urged  the  black  to  a 


24 "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

point  within  three  or  four  paces  of  Corrigan  and  sat 
in  the  saddle,  looking  at  him.  And  now  for  the  first 
time  Rosalind  had  a  clear,  full  view  of  the  rider's  face 
and  a  quiver  of  trepidation  ran  over  her.  For  the  lean 
jaws  were  corded,  the  mouth  was  firm  and  set  —  she 
knew  his  teeth  were  clenched;  it  was  the  face  of  a 
man  who  would  not  be  trifled  with.  His  chin  was 
shoved  forward  slightly;  somehow  it  helped  to  express 
the  cold  humor  that  shone  in  his  narrowed,  steady  eyes. 
His  voice,  when  he  spoke  to  Corrigan,  had  a  metallic 
quality  that  rang  ominously  in  the  silence  that  had 
continued: 

"  Back  up  your  play  or  take  it  back,"  he  said  slowly. 

Corrigan  had  not  changed  his  position.  He  stared 
fixedly  at  the  rider;  his  only  sign  of  emotion  over  the 
latter's  words  was  a  quickening  of  the  eyes.  He  idly 
tapped  with  his  fingers  on  the  sleeve  of  his  khaki  shirt, 
where  the  arm  passed  under  them  to  fold  over  the 
other.  His  voice  easily  matched  the  rider's  in  its  qual 
ity  of  quietness: 

"  My  conversation  was  private.  You  are  interfering 
without  cause." 

Watching  the  rider,  filled  with  a  sudden,  breathless 
premonition  of  impending  tragedy,  Rosalind  saw  his 
eyes  glitter  with  the  imminence  of  physical  action.  Dis 
tressed,  stirred  by  an  impulse  to  avert  what  threatened, 
she  took  a  step  forward,  speaking  rapidly  to  Corrigan : 

"Mr.  Corrigan,  this  is  positively  silly!  You  know 
you  were  hardly  discreet !  " 

Corrigan  smiled  coldly,  and  the  girl  knew  that  it 
was  not  a  question  of  right  or  wrong  between  the  two 


IN  WHICH  HATRED  IS  BORN          25 

men,  but  a  conflict  of  spirit.  She  did  not  know  that 
hatred  had  been  born  here;  that  instinctively  each  knew 
the  other  for  a  foe,  and  that  this  present  clash  was  to 
be  merely  one  battle  of  the  war  that  would  be  waged 
between  them  if  both  survived. 

Not  for  an  instant  did  Corrigan's  eyes  wander  from 
those  of  the  rider.  He  saw  from  them  that  he  might 
expect  no  further  words.  None  came.  The  rider's 
right  hand  fell  to  the  butt  of  the  pistol  that  swung 
low  on  his  right  hip.  Simultaneously,  Corrigan's  hand 
dropped  to  his  hip  pocket. 

Rosalind  saw  the  black  horse  lunge  forward  as  though 
propelled  by  a  sudden  spring.  A  dust  cloud  rose  from 
his  hoofs,  and  Corrigan  was  lost  in  it.  When  the 
dust  swirled  away,  Corrigan  was  disclosed  to  the  girl's 
view,  doubled  queerly  on  the  ground,  face  down.  The 
black  horse  had  struck  him  with  its  shoulder — he 
seemed  to  be  badly  hurt. 

For  a  moment  the  girl  stood,  swaying,  looking  around 
appealingly,  startled  wonder,  dismay  and  horror  in  her 
eyes.  It  had  happened  so  quickly  that  she  was  stunned. 
She  had  but  one  conscious  emotion  —  thankfulness  that 
neither  man  had  used  his  pistol. 

No  one  moved.  The  girl  thought  some  of  them 
might  have  come  to  Corrigan's  assistance.  She  did 
not  know  that  the  ethics  forbade  interference,  that  a 
fight  was  between  the  fighters  until  one  acknowledged 
defeat. 

Corrigan's  face  was  in  the  dust;  he  had  not  moved. 
The  black  horse  stood,  quietly  now,  several  feet  distant, 
and  presently  the  rider  dismounted,  walked  to  Corrigan 


26  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

and  turned  him  over.  He  worked  the  fallen  man's 
arms  and  legs,  and  moved  his  neck,  then  knelt  and 
listened  at  his  chest.  He  got  up  and  smiled  mirthlessly 
at  the  girl. 

"He's  just  knocked  out,  Miss  Benham.  It's  noth 
ing  serious.  Nigger  —  " 

"  You  coward !  "  she  interrupted,  her  voice  thick  with 
passion. 

His  lips  whitened,  but  he  smiled  faintly. 

"Nigger — "  he  began  again. 

"Coward!  Coward!"  she  repeated,  standing  rigid 
before  him,  her  hands  clenched,  her  lips  stiff  with  scorn. 

He  smiled  resignedly  and  turned  away.  She  stood 
watching  him,  hating  him,  hurling  mental  anathemas 
after  him,  until  she  saw  him  pass  through  the  doorway 
of  the  bank.  Then  she  turned  to  see  Corrigan  just 
getting  up. 

Not  a  man  in  the  group  across  the  street  had  moved. 
They,  too,  had  watched  Trevison  go  into  the  bank,  and 
now  their  glances  shifted  to  the  girl  and  Corrigan. 
Their  sympathies,  she  saw  plainly,  were  with  Trevison; 
several  of  them  smiled  as  the  easterner  got  to  his  feet. 

Corrigan  was  pale  and  breathless,  but  he  smiled  at 
her  and  held  her  off  when  she  essayed  to  help  him 
brush  the  dust  from  his  clothing.  He  did  that  himself, 
and  mopped  his  face  with  a  handkerchief. 

"  It  wasn't  fair,"  whispered  the  girl,  sympathetically. 
"  I  almost  wish  that  you  had  killed  him !  "  she  added, 
vindictively. 

"  My,  what  a  fire-eater !  "  he  said  with  a  broad  smile. 
She  thought  he  looked  handsomer  with  the  dust  upon 


IN  WHICH  HATRED  IS  BORN          27 

him,  than  he  had  ever  seemed  when  polished  and 
immaculate. 

"Are  you  badly  hurt?"  she  asked,  with  a  concern 
that  made  him  look  quickly  at  her. 

He  laughed  and  patted  her  arm  lightly.  "  Not  a  bit 
hurt,"  he  said.  "  Come,  those  men  are  staring." 

He  escorted  her  to  the  step  of  the  private  car,  and 
lingered  a  moment  there  to  make  his  apology  for  his 
part  in  the  trouble.  He  told  her  frankly,  that  he  was 
to  blame,  knowing  that  Trevison's  action  in  riding  him 
down  would  more  than  outweigh  any  resentment  she 
might  feel  over  his  mistake  in  bringing  about  the  clash 
in  her  presence. 

She  graciously  forgave  him,  and  a  little  later  she 
entered  the  car  alone;  he  telling  her  that  he  would  be 
in  presently,  after  he  returned  from  the  station  where 
he  intended  to  send  a  telegram.  She  gave  him  a  smile, 
standing  on  the  platform  of  the  car,  dazzling,  eloquent 
with  promise.  It  made  his  heart  leap  with  exultation, 
and  as  he  went  his  way  toward  the  station  he  voiced  a 
sentiment: 

"Entirely  worth  being  ridden  down  for." 

But  his  jaws  set  savagely  as  he  approached  the  sta 
tion.  He  did  not  go  into  the  station,  but  around  the 
outside  wall  of  it,  passing  between  it  and  another  build 
ing  and  coming  at  last  to  the  front  of  the  bank  build 
ing.  He  had  noted  that  the  black  horse  was  still 
standing  in  front  of  the  bank  building,  and  that  the 
group  of  men  had  dispersed.  The  street  was  deserted. 

Corrigan's  movements  became  quick  and  sinister. 
He  drew  a  heavy  revolver  out  of  a  hip  pocket,  shoved 


28 "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

its  butt  partly  up  his  sleeve  and  concealed  the  cylinder 
and  barrel  in  the  palm  of  his  hand.  Then  he  stepped 
into  the  door  of  the  bank.  He  saw  Trevison  standing 
at  one  of  the  grated  windows  of  the  wire  netting,  talk 
ing  with  Braman.  Corrigan  had  taken  several  steps 
into  the  room  before  Trevison  heard  him,  and  then 
Trevison  turned,  to  find  himself  looking  into  the  gap 
ing  muzzle  of  Corrigan's  pistol. 

"You  didn't  run,"  said  the  latter.  "Thought  it  was 
all  over,  I  suppose.  Well,  it  isn't."  He  was  grinning 
coldly,  and  was  now  deliberate  and  unexcited,  though 
two  crimson  spots  glowed  in  his  cheeks,  betraying  the 
presence  of  passion. 

"Don't  reach  for  that  gun!"  he  warned  Trevison. 
"  I'll  blow  a  hole  through  you  if  you  wriggle  a  finger !  " 
Watching  Trevison,  he  spoke  to  Braman :  "  You  got  a 
back  room  here?" 

The  banker  stepped  around  the  end  of  the  counter 
and  opened  a  door  behind  the  wire  netting.  "  Right 
here,"  he  directed. 

Corrigan  indicated  the  door  with  a  jerking  movement 
of  the  head.  "Move!"  he  said  shortly,  to  Trevison. 
The  latter's  lips  parted  in  a  cold,  amused  grin,  and  he 
hesitated  slightly,  yielding  presently. 

An  instant  later  the  three  were  standing  in  the  mid 
dle  of  a  large  room,  empty  except  for  a  cot  upon  which 
Braman  slept,  some  clothing  hanging  on  the  walls,  a 
bench  and  a  chair.  Corrigan  ordered  the  banker  to 
clear  the  room.  When  that  had  been  done,  Corrigan 
spoke  again  to  the  banker: 

"Get  his  gun." 


IN  WHICH  HATRED  IS  BORN          29 

A  snapping  alertness  of  the  eyes  indicated  that  Trevi- 
son  knew  what  was  coming.  That  was  the  reason  he 
had  been  so  quiescent  this  far;  it  was  why  he  made  no 
objection  when  Braman  passed  his  hands  over  his  cloth 
ing  in  search  of  other  weapons,  after  his  pistol  had 
been  lifted  from  its  holster  by  the  banker. 

"  Now  get  out  of  here  and  lock  the  doors  !  "  ordered 
Corrigan.  "And  let  nobody  come  in!" 

Braman  retired,  grinning  expectantly. 

Then  Corrigan  backed  away  until  he  came  to  the 
wall.  Reaching  far  up,  he  hung  his  revolver  on  a 
nail. 

"Now,"  he  said  to  Trevison,  his  voice  throaty  from 
passion;  "  take  off  your  damned  foolish  trappings.  I'm 
going  to  knock  hell  out  of  you ! " 


CHAPTER  III 

BEATING  A  GOOD  MAN 

TREVISON  had  not  moved.  He  had  watched  the 
movements  of  the  other  closely,  noting  his  huge 
bulk,  his  lithe  motions,  the  play  of  his  muscles  as  he 
backed  across  the  room  to  dispose  of  the  pistol.  At 
Corrigan's  words  though,  Trevison's  eyes  glowed  with 
a  sudden  fire,  his  teeth  gleamed,  his  straight  lips  part 
ing  in  a  derisive  smile.  The  other's  manner  toward 
him  had  twanged  the  chord  of  animosity  that  had  been 
between  them  since  the  first  exchange  of  glances,  and 
he  was  as  eager  as  Corrigan  for  the  clash  that  must 
now  come.  He  had  known  that  the  first  conflict  had 
been  an  unfinished  thing.  He  laughed  in  sheer  delight, 
though  that  delight  was  tempered  with  savage  deter 
mination. 

"Save  your  boasts,"  he  taunted. 

Corrigan  sneered.  "You  won't  look  so  damned 
attractive  when  you  leave  this  room."  He  took  off 
his  hat  and  tossed  it  into  a  corner,  then  turned  to  Trevi- 
son  with  an  ugly  grin. 

"Ready?"  he  said. 

"Quite."  Trevison  had  not  accepted  Corrigan's 
suggestion  about  taking  off  his  "  damned  foolish  trap 
pings,"  and  he  still  wore  them  —  cartridge  belt,  leather 

30 


BEATING  A  GOOD  MAN  31 

chaps,  spurs.  But  now  he  followed  Corrigan's  lead  and 
threw  his  hat  from  him.  Then  he  crouched  and  faced 
Corrigan. 

They  circled  cautiously,  Trevison's  spurs  jingling 
musically.  Then  Trevison  went  in  swiftly,  jabbing  with 
his  left,  throwing  off  Corrigan's  vicious  counter  with 
the  elbow,  and  ripping  his  right  upward.  The  fist  met 
Corrigan's  arm  as  the  latter  blocked,  and  the  shock 
forced  both  men  back  a  step.  Corrigan  grinned  with 
malicious  interest  and  crowded  forward. 

"That's  good,"  he  said;  "you're  not  a  novice.  I 
hope  you're  not  a  quitter.  I've  quite  a  bit  to  hand  you 
for  riding  me  down." 

Trevison  grinned  derisively,  but  made  no  answer. 
He  knew  he  must  save  his  wind  for  this  man.  Corri 
gan  was  strong,  clever;  his  forearm,  which  had  blocked 
Trevison's  uppercut,  had  seemed  like  a  bar  of  steel. 

Trevison  went  in  again  with  the  grim  purpose  of 
discovering  just  how  strong  his  antagonist  was.  Cor 
rigan  evaded  a  stiff  left  jab  intended  for  his  chin,  and 
his  own  right  cross  missed  as  Trevison  ducked  into  a 
clinch.  With  arms  locked  they  strained,  legs  braced, 
their  lungs  heaving  as  they  wrestled,  doggedly. 

Corrigan  stood  like  a  post,  not  giving  an  inch.  Vainly 
Trevison  writhed,  seeking  a  position  which  would 
betray  a  weakened  muscle,  but  though  he  exerted  every 
ounce  of  his  own  mighty  strength  Corrigan  held  him 
even.  They  broke  at  last,  mutually,  and  Corrigan 
must  have  felt  the  leathery  quality  of  Trevison's  mus 
cles,  for  his  face  was  set  in  serious  lines.  His  eyes 
glittered  malignantly  as  he  caught  a  confident  smile 


32 "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

on  Trevison's  lips,  and  he  bored  in  silently,  swinging 
both  hands. 

Trevison  had  been  the  cool  boxer,  carefully  trying 
out  his  opponent.  He  had  felt  little  emotion  save  that 
of  self-protection.  At  the  beginning  of  the  fight  he 
would  have  apologized  to  Corrigan  —  with  reserva 
tions.  Now  he  was  stirred  with  the  lust  of  battle. 
Corrigan's  malignance  had  struck  a  responsive  passion 
in  him,  and  the  sodden  impact  of  fist  on  flesh,  the  match 
ing  of  strength  against  strength,  the  strain  of  iron 
muscles,  the  contact  of  their  bodies,  the  sting  and 
burn  of  blows,  had  aroused  the  latent  savage  in  him. 
He  was  still  cool,  however,  but  it  was  the  crafty  cool 
ness  of  the  trained  fighter,  and  as  Corrigan  crowded 
him  he  whipped  in  ripping  blows  that  sent  the  big  man's 
head  back.  Corrigan  paid  little  heed  to  the  blows;  he 
shook  them  off,  grunting.  Blood  was  trickling  thinly 
from  his  lips;  he  spat  bestially  over  Trevison's  shoul 
der  in  a  clinch,  and  tried  to  sweep  the  latter  from  his 
feet. 

The  agility  of  the  cow-puncher  saved  him,  and  he 
went  dancing  out  of  harm's  way,  his  spurs  jingling. 
Corrigan  was  after  him  with  a  rush.  A  heavy  blow 
caught  Trevison  on  the  right  side  of  the  neck  just  below 
the  ear  and  sent  him,  tottering,  against  the  wall  of  the 
building,  from  which  he  rebounded  like  a  rubber  ball, 
smothering  Corrigan  with  an  avalanche  of  deadening 
straight-arm  punches  that  brought  a  glassy  stare  into 
Corrigan's  eyes.  The  big  man's  head  wabbled,  and 
Trevison  crowded  in,  intent  on  ending  the  fight  quickly, 
but  Corrigan  covered  instinctively,  and  when  Trevison 


BEATING  A  GOOD  MAN 33 

in  his  eagerness  missed  a  blow,  the  big  man  clinched 
with  him  and  hung  on  doggedly  until  his  befoggled 
brain  could  clear.  For  a  few  minutes  they  rocked 
around  the  room,  their  heels  thudding  on  the  bare 
boards  of  the  floor,  creating  sounds  that  filtered  through 
the  enclosing  walls  and  smote  the  silence  of  the  outside 
world  with  resonant  rumblings.  Mercilessly,  Trevison 
hammered  at  the  heavy  head  that  sought  a  haven  en 
his  shoulder.  Corrigan  had  been  stunned  and  wanted 
no  more  long  range  work.  He  tried  to  lock  his  big 
arms  around  the  other's  waist  in  an  attempt  to  wrestle, 
realizing  that  in  that  sort  of  a  contest  lay  his  only 
hope  of  victory,  but  Trevison,  agile,  alert  to  his  dan 
ger,  slipped  elusively  from  the  grasping  hands  and 
thudded  uppercuts  to  the  other's  mouth  and  jaws  that 
landed  with  sickening  force.  But  none  of  the  blows 
landed  on  a  vital  spot,  and  Corrigan  hung  grimly  on. 

At  last,  lashing  viciously,  wriggling,  squirming, 
swinging  around  in  a  wide  circle  to  get  out  of  Corri- 
gan's  clutches,  Trevison  broke  the  clinch  and  stood  off, 
breathing  heavily,  summoning  his  reserve  strength  for 
a  finishing  blow.  Corrigan  had  been  fearfully  pun 
ished  during  the  last  few  minutes,  but  he  was  gradually 
recovering  from  his  dizziness,  and  he  grinned  hideously 
at  Trevison  through  his  smashed  lips.  He  surged  for 
ward,  reminding  Trevison  of  a  wounded  bear,  but 
Trevison  retreated  warily  as  he  measured  the  distance 
from  which  he  would  drive  the  blow  that  would  end 
it. 

He  was  still  retreating,  describing  a  wide  circle.  He 
swung  around  toward  the  door  through  which  Braman 


34  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

had  gone  —  his  back  was  toward  it.  He  did  not  see 
the  door  open  slightly  as  he  passed;  he  had  not  seen 
Braman's  face  in  the  slight  crevice  that  had  been 
between  door  and  jamb  all  along.  Nor  did  he  see  the 
banker  jab  at  his  legs  with  the  handle  of  a  broom. 
But  he  felt  the  handle  hit  his  legs.  It  tripped  him, 
forcing  him  to  lose  his  balance.  As  he  fell  he  saw 
Corrigan's  eyes  brighten,  and  he  twisted  sideways  to 
escape  a  heavy  blow  that  Corrigan  aimed  at  him.  He 
only  partially  evaded  it  —  it  struck  him  glancingly,  a 
little  to  the  left  of  the  chin,  stunning  him,  and  he  fell 
awkwardly,  his  left  arm  doubling  under  him.  The 
agonizing  pain  that  shot  through  the  arm  as  he  crum 
pled  to  the  floor  told  him  that  it  had  been  broken  at 
the  wrist.  A  queer  stupor  came  upon  him,  during 
which  he  neither  felt  nor  saw.  Dimly,  he  sensed  that 
Corrigan  was  striking  at  him;  with  a  sort  of  vague 
half-consciousness  he  felt  that  the  blows  were  landing. 
But  they  did  not  hurt,  and  he  laughed  at  Corrigan's 
futile  efforts.  The  only  feeling  he  had  was  a  blind 
rage  against  Braman,  for  he  was  certain  that  it  had 
been  the  banker  who  had  tripped  him.  Then  he  saw 
the  broom  on  the  floor  and  the  crevice  in  the  doorway. 
He  got  to  his  feet  some  way,  Corrigan  hanging  to 
him,  raining  blows  upon  him,  and  he  laughed  aloud  as, 
his  vision  clearing  a  little,  he  saw  Corrigan's  mouth, 
weak,  open,  drooling  blood,  and  remembered  that  when 
Braman  had  tripped  him  Corrigan  had  hardly  been  in 
shape  to  do  much  effective  hitting.  He  tottered  away 
from  Corrigan,  taunting  him,  though  afterwards  he 
could  not  remember  what  his  words  were.  Also,  he 


BEATING  A  GOOD  MAN 35 

heard  Corrigan  cursing  him,  though  he  could  never 
remember  his  words,  either.  He  tried  to  swing  his 
left  arm  as  Corrigan  came  within  range  of  it,  but 
found  he  could  not  lift  it,  and  so  ducked  the  savage 
blow  that  Corrigan  aimed  at  him  and  slipped  sideways, 
bringing  his  right  into  play.  Several  times  as  they 
circled  he  uppercut  Corrigan  with  the  right,  he  retreat 
ing,  side-stepping;  Corrigan  following  him  doggedly, 
slashing  venomously  at  him,  hitting  him  occasionally. 
Corrigan  could  not  hurt  him,  and  he  could  not  resist 
laughing  at  Corrigan's  face  —  it  was  so  hideously 
repulsive. 

A  man  came  out  of  the  front  door  of  Hanrahan's 
saloon  across  the  street  from  the  bank  building,  and 
stood  in  the  street  for  a  moment,  looking  about  him. 
Had  Miss  Benham  seen  the  man  she  would  have  rec 
ognized  him  as  the  one  who  had  previously  come  out 
of  the  saloon  to  greet  the  rider  with:  "Well,  if  it  ain't 
ol'  'Brand'!"  He  saw  the  black  horse  standing  in 
front  of  the  bank  building,  but  Trevison  was  nowhere 
in  sight.  The  man  mumbled:  "  I  don't  want  him  to  git 
away  without  me  seein'  him,"  and  crossed  the  street  to 
the  bank  window  and  peered  inside.  He  saw  Braman 
peering  through  a  half-open  door  at  the  rear  of  the 
banking  room,  and  he  heard  sounds  —  queer,  jarring 
sounds  that  made  the  glass  window  in  front  of  him 
rattle  and  quiver. 

He  dove  around  to  the  side  of  the  building  and 
looked  in  a  window.  He  stood  for  a  moment,  watching 
with  bulging  eyes,  half  drew  a  pistol,  thought  better 


36 "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

of  the  notion  and  replaced  it,  and  then  darted  back  to 
the  saloon  from  which  he  had  emerged,  croaking 
hoarsely :"  Fight!  fight!" 

Trevison  had  not  had  the  agility  to  evade  one  of 
Corrigan's  heavy  blows.  It  had  caught  him  as  he  had 
tried  to  duck,  striking  fairly  on  the  point  of  the  jaw, 
and  he  was  badly  dazed.  But  he  still  grinned  mock 
ingly  at  his  enemy  as  the  latter  followed  him,  tensed, 
eager,  snarling.  He  evaded  other  blows  that  would 
have  finished  him  —  through  instinct,  it  seemed  to  Cor- 
rigan;  and  though  there  was  little  strength  left  in 
him  he  kept  working  his  right  fist  through  Corrigan's 
guard  and  into  his  face,  pecking  away  at  it  until  it 
seemed  to  be  cut  to  ribbons. 

Voices  came  from  somewhere  in  the  banking  room, 
voices  raised  in  altercation.  Neither  of  the  two  men, 
raging  around  the  rear  room,  heard  them  —  they  had 
become  insensate  savages  oblivious  of  their  surround 
ings,  drunken  with  passion,  with  the  blood-mania  grip 
ping  their  brains. 

Trevison  had  brought  the  last  ounce  of  his  remain 
ing  strength  into  play  and  had  landed  a  crushing  blow 
on  Corrigan's  chin.  The  big  man  was  wabbling  crazily 
about  in  the  general  direction  of  Trevison,  swinging  his 
arms  wildly,  Trevison  evading  him,  snapping  home 
blows  that  landed  smackingly  without  doing  much  dam 
age.  They  served  merely  to  keep  Corrigan  in  the 
semi-comatose  state  in  which  Trevison's  last  hard  blow 
had  left  him.  And  that  last  blow  had  sapped  Trevi- 
son's  strength;  his  spirit  alone  had  survived  the  drunken 


BEATING  A  GOOD  MAN 37 

orgy  of  rage  and  hatred.  As  the  tumult  around  him 
increased — the  tramp  of  many  feet,  scuffling;  harsh, 
discordant  voices,  curses,  yells  of  protest,  threats  — 
not  a  sound  of  which  he  heard,  so  intent  was  he  with 
his  work  of  battering  his  adversary,  he  ceased  to  retreat 
from  Corrigan,  and  as  the  latter  shuffled  toward  him  he 
stiffened  and  drove  his  right  fist  into  the  big  man's 
face.  Corrigan  cursed  and  grunted,  but  lunged  for 
ward  again.  They  swung  at  the  same  instant — Trevi- 
son's  right  just  grazing  Corrigan's  jaw;  Corrigan's 
blow,  full  and  sweeping,  thudding  against  Trevison's 
left  ear.  Trevison's  head  rolled,  his  chin  sagged  to  his 
chest,  and  his  knees  doubled  like  hinges.  Corrigan 
smirked  malevolently  and  drove  forward  again.  But 
he  was  too  eager,  and  his  blows  missed  the  reeling  tar 
get  that,  with  arms  hanging  wearily  at  his  sides,  still 
instinctively  kept  to  his  feet,  the  taunting  smile,  now 
becoming  bitterly  contemptuous,  still  on  his  face.  It 
meant  that  though  exhausted,  his  arm  broken,  he  felt 
only  scorn  for  Corrigan's  prowess  as  a  fighter. 

Fighting  off  the  weariness  he  lunged  forward  again, 
swinging  the  now  deadened  right  arm  at  the  blur  Cor 
rigan  made  in  front  of  him.  Something  collided  with 
him  —  a  human  form  —  and  thinking  it  was  Corrigan, 
clinching  with  him,  he  grasped  it.  The  momentum  of 
the  object,  and  his  own  weakness,  carried  him  back 
and  down,  and  with  the  object  in  his  grasp  he  fell, 
underneath,  to  the  floor.  He  saw  a  face  close  to  his 
—  Braman's  —  and  remembering  that  the  banker  had 
tripped  him,  he  began  to  work  his  right  fist  into  the 
other's  face. 


38 "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

He  would  have  finished  Braman.  He  did  not  know 
that  the  man  who  had  greeted  him  as  "  ol'  'Brand" 
had  smashed  the  banker  in  the  forehead  with  the  butt 
of  a  pistol  when  the  banker  had  tried  to  bar  his  progress 
at  the  doorway;  he  was  not  aware  that  the  force  of 
the  blow  had  hurled  Braman  against  him,  and  that  the 
latter,  half  unconscious,  was  not  defending  himself. 
He  would  not  have  cared  had  he  known  these  things, 
for  he  was  fighting  blindly,  doggedly,  recklessly  — 
fighting  two  men,  he  thought.  And  though  he  sensed 
that  there  could  be  but  one  end  to  such  a  struggle,  he 
hammered  away  with  ferocious  malignance,  and  in 
the  abandon  of  his  passion  in  this  extremity  he  was 
recklessly  swinging  his  broken  left  arm,  driving  it  at 
Braman,  groaning  each  time  the  fist  landed. 

He  felt  hands  grasping  him,  and  he  fought  them 
off,  smashing  weakly  at  faces  that  appeared  around 
him  as  he  was  dragged  to  his  feet.  He  heard  a  voice 
say:  "His  arm's  bruk,"  and  the  voice  seemed  to  clear 
the  atmosphere.  He  paused,  holding  back  a  blow,  and 
the  dancing  blur  of  faces  assumed  a  proper  aspect  and 
he  saw  the  man  who  had  hit  the  banker. 

"Hello  Mullarky!"  he  grinned,  reeling  drunkenly 
in  the  arms  of  his  friends.  "Come  to  see  the  picnic? 
Where's  my  —  " 

He  saw  Corrigan  leaning  against  a  wall  of  the  room 
and  lurched  toward  him.  A  dozen  hands  held  him 
back — the  room  was  full  of  men;  and  as  his  brain 
cleared  he  recognized  some  of  them.  He  heard  threats, 
mutterings,  against  Corrigan,  and  he  laughed,  bidding 
the  men  to  hold  their  peace,  that  it  was  a  "  fair  fight." 


BEATING  A  GOOD  MAN 39 

Corrigan  was  unmoved  by  the  threats  —  as  he  was 
unmoved  by  Trevison's  words.  He  leaned  against  the 
wall,  weak,  his  arms  hanging  at  his  sides,  his  face  mac 
erated,  grinning  contemptuously.  And  then,  despite  his 
objections,  Trevison  was  dragged  away  by  Mullarky 
and  the  others,  leaving  Braman  stretched  out  on  the 
floor,  and  Corrigan,  his  knees  sagging,  his  chin  almost 
on  his  chest,  standing  near  the  wall.  Trevison  turned 
as  he  was  forced  out  of  the  door,  and  grinned  taunt 
ingly  at  his  tired  enemy.  Corrigan  spat  at  him. 

Half  an  hour  later,  his  damaged  arm  bandaged,  and 
some  marks  of  the  battle  removed,  Trevison  was  in 
the  banking  room.  He  had  forbidden  any  of  his  friends 
to  accompany  him,  but  Mullarky  and  several  others 
stood  outside  the  door  and  watched  him. 

A  bandage  around  his  head,  Braman  leaned  on  the 
counter  behind  the  wire  netting,  pale,  shaking.  In  a 
chair  at  the  desk  sat  Corrigan,  glowering  at  Trevison. 
The  big  man's  face  had  been  attended  to,  but  it  was 
swollen  frightfully,  and  his  smashed  lips  were  in  a 
horrible  pout.  Trevison  grinned  at  him,  but  it  was  to 
the  banker  that  he  spoke. 

"I  want  my  gun,  Braman,"  he  said,  shortly. 

The  banker  took  it  out  of  a  drawer  and  silently 
shoved  it  across  the  counter  and  through  a  little  open 
ing  in  the  wire  netting.  The  banker  wratched,  fearingly, 
as  Trevison  shoved  the  weapon  into  its  holster.  Cor 
rigan  stolidly  followed  his  movements. 

The  gun  in  its  holster,  Trevison  leaned  toward  the 
banker. 


40 "FIREBRAND"   TREPISON 

"  I  always  knew  you  weren't  straight,  Braman.  But 
we  won't  quarrel  about  that  now.  I  just  want  you  to 
know  that  when  this  arm  of  mine  is  right  again,  we'll 
try  to  square  things  between  us.  Broom  handles  will 
be  barred  that  day." 

Braman  was  silent  and  uneasy  as  he  watched  Trevi- 
son  reach  into  a  pocket  and  withdraw  a  leather  bill- 
book.  From  this  he  took  a  paper  and  tossed  it  in 
through  the  opening  of  the  wire  netting. 

"Cash  it,"  he  directed.  "It's  about  the  matter  we 
were  discussing  when  we  were  interrupted  by  our  blood 
thirsty  friend,  there." 

He  looked  at  Corrigan  while  Braman  examined  the 
paper,  his  eyes  alight  with  the  mocking,  unfearing 
gleam  that  had  been  in  them  during  the  fight.  Corri 
gan  scowled  and  Trevison  grinned  at  him  —  the  indom 
itable,  mirthless  grin  of  the  reckless  fighting  man;  and 
Corrigan  filled  his  lungs  slowly,  watching  him  with 
half-closed  eyes.  It  was  as  though  both  knew  that 
a  distant  day  would  bring  another  clash  between  them. 

Braman  fingered  the  paper  uncertainly,  and  looked 
at  Corrigan. 

"I  suppose  this  is  all  regular?"  he  said.  "You 
ought  to  know  something  about  it — it's  a  check  from 
the  railroad  company  for  the  right-of-way  through  Mr. 
Trevison's  land." 

Corrigan's  eyes  brightened  as  he  examined  the  check. 
They  filled  with  a  hard,  sinister  light. 

"No,"  he  said;  "it  isn't  regular."  He  took  the 
check  from  Braman  and  deliberately  tore  it  into  small 
pieces,  scattering  them  on  the  floor  at  his  feet.  He 


BEATING  A  GOOD  MAN 


smiled  vindictively,  settling  back  into  his  chair. 
"  '  Brand  '  Trevison,  eh  ?  "  he  said.  "  Well,  Mr.  Trevi- 
son,  the  railroad  company  isn't  ready  to  close  with  you." 

Trevison  had  watched  the  destruction  of  the  check 
without  the  quiver  of  an  eyelash.  A  faint,  ironic  smile 
curved  the  corners  of  his  mouth  as  Corrigan  concluded. 

"I  see,"  he  said  quietly.  "You  were  not  man 
enough  to  beat  me  a  little  while  ago  —  even  with  the 
help  of  Braman's  broom.  You're  going  to  take  it  out 
on  me  through  the  railroad;  you're  going  to  sneak  and 
scheme.  Well,  you're  in  good  company  —  anything 
that  you  don't  know  about  skinning  people  Braman  will 
tell  you.  But  I'm  letting  you  know  this  :  The  railroad 
company's  option  on  my  land  expired  last  night,  and 
it  won't  be  renewed.  If  it's  fight  you're  looking  for, 
I'll  do  my  best  to  accommodate  you." 

Corrigan  grunted,  and  idly  drummed  with  the  fingers 
of  one  hand  on  the  top  of  the  desk,  watching  Trevison 
steadily.  The  latter  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  changed 
his  mind,  grinned  and  went  out.  Corrigan  and  Bra 
man  watched  him  as  he  stopped  for  a  moment  outside 
to  talk  with  his  friends,  and  their  gaze  followed  him 
until  he  mounted  Nigger  and  rode  out  of  town.  Then 
the  banker  looked  at  Corrigan,  his  brows  wrinkling. 

"You  know  your  business,  Jeff,"  he  said;  "but 
you've  picked  a  tough  man  in  Trevison." 

Corrigan  did  not  answer.  He  was  glowering  at  the 
pieces  of  the  check  that  lay  on  the  floor  at  his  feet. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  LONG  ARM  OF  POWER 

PRESENTLY  Corrigan  lit  a  cigar,  biting  the  end 
off  carefully,  to  keep  it  from  coming  in  contact 
with  his  bruised  lips.    When  the  cigar  was  going  well, 
he  looked  at  Braman. 

"What  isTrevison?" 

Pale,  still  dizzy  from  the  effects  of  the  blow  on  the 
head,  Braman,  who  was  leaning  heavily  on  the  coun 
ter,  smiled  wryly: 

"  He's  a  holy  terror  —  you  ought  to  know  that.  He's 
a  reckless,  don't-give-a-damn  fool  who  has  forgotten 
there's  such  a  thing  as  consequences.  4  Firebrand ' 
Trevison,  they  call  him.  And  he  lives  up  to  what  that 
means.  The  folks  in  this  section  of  the  country  swear 
by  him." 

Corrigan  made  a  gesture  of  impatience.  "  I  mean 
—  what  does  he  do?  Of  course  I  know  he  owns  some 
land  here.  But  how  much  land  does  he  own?  " 

"You  saw  the  figure  on  the  check,  didn't  you?  He 
owns  five  thousand  acres." 

"  How  long  has  he  been  here  ?  " 

"You've  got  me.  More  than  ten  years,  I  guess, 
from  what  I  can  gather." 

"What  was  he  before  he  came  here?" 

42 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  POWER  43 

"I  couldn't  even  surmise  that  —  he  don't  talk  about 
his  past.  From  the  way  he  waded  into  you,  I  should 
judge  he  was  a  prize  fighter  before  becoming  a  cow- 
puncher.'* 

Corrigan  glared  at  the  banker.  "Yes;  it's  damned 
funny,"  he  said.  "How  did  he  get  his  land?" 

"Proved  on  a  quarter-section.  Bought  the  rest  of 
it  —  and  bought  it  mighty  cheap."  Braman's  eyes 
brightened.  "Figure  on  attacking  his  title?" 

Corrigan  grunted.  "  I  notice  he  asked  you  for  cash. 
You're  not  his  banker,  evidently." 

"He  banks  in  Las  Vegas,  I  guess." 

"What  about  his  cattle?" 

"He  shipped  three  thousand  head  last  season." 

"How  big  is  his  outfit?" 

"  He's  got  about  twenty  men.  They're  all  hard  cases 
—  like  him,  and  they'd  shoot  themselves  for  him." 

Corrigan  got  up  and  walked  to  the  window,  from 
where  he  looked  out  at  Manti.  The  town  looked  like 
an  army  camp.  Lumber,  merchandise,  supplies  of 
every  description,  littered  the  street  in  mounds  and  scat 
tered  heaps,  awaiting  the  erection  of  tent-house  and 
building.  But  there  was  none  of  that  activity  that 
might  have  been  expected  from  the  quantity  of  mate 
rial  on  hand;  it  seemed  that  the  owners  were  waiting, 
delaying  in  anticipation  of  some  force  that  would  give 
them  encouragement.  They  were  reluctant  to  risk  their 
money  in  erecting  buildings  on  the  strength  of  mere 
rumor.  But  they  had  come,  hoping. 

Corrigan  grinned  at  Braman.  "They're  afraid  to 
take  a  chance,"  he  said,  meaning  Manti's  citizens. 


44 "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

"  Don't  blame  them.  IVe  spread  the  stuff  around  — 
as  you  told  me.  That's  all  they've  heard.  They're 
here  on  a  forlorn  hope.  The  boom  they  are  looking 
for,  seems,  from  present  conditions,  to  be  lurking  some 
where  in  the  future,  shadowed  by  an  indefiniteness  that 
to  them  is  vaguely  connected  with  somebody's  promise 
of  a  dam,  agricultural  activity  to  follow,  and  factories. 
They  haven't  been  able  to  trace  the  rumors,  but  they're 
here,  and  they'll  make  things  hum  if  they  get  a  chance." 

"  Sure,"  grinned  Corrigan.  "  A  boom  town  is  always 
a  graft  for  first  arrivals.  That  is,  boom  towns  have 
been.  But  Manti  — "  He  paused. 

"Yes,  different,"  chuckled  the  banker.  "It  must 
have  cost  a  wad  to  shove  that  water  grant  through." 

"Benham  kicked  on  the  price  —  it  was  enough." 

"That  maximum  rate  clause  is  a  pippin.  You  can 
soak  them  the  limit  right  from  the  jump." 

"And  scare  them  out,"  scoffed  Corrigan.  "That 
isn't  the  game.  Get  them  here,  first.  Then  —  " 

The  banker  licked  his  lips.  "How  does  old  Ben- 
ham  take  it?" 

"  Mr.  Benham  is  enthusiastic  because  everything  will 
be  done  in  a  perfectly  legitimate  way  —  he  thinks." 

"And  the  courts?" 

"Judge  Lindman,  of  the  District  Court  now  in  Dry 
Bottom,  is  going  to  establish  himself  here.  Benham 
pulled  that  string." 

"Good!"  said  Braman.  "When  is  Lindman  com 
ing?" 

Corrigan's  smile  was  crooked;  it  told  eloquently  of 
conscious  power  over  the  man  he  had  named. 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  POWER  45 

"He'll  come  whenever  I  give  the  word.  Benham's 
got  something  on  him." 

"  You  always  were  a  clever  son-of-a-gun !  "  laughed 
the  banker,  admiringly. 

Ignoring  the  compliment,  Corrigan  walked  into  the 
rear  room,  where  he  gazed  frowningly  at  his  reflec 
tion  in  a  small  glass  affixed  to  the  wall.  Re-entering 
the  banking  room  he  said: 

"  I'm  in  no  condition  to  face  Miss  Benham.  Go 
down  to  the  car  and  tell  her  that  I  shall  be  very  busy 
here  all  day,  and  that  I  won't  be  able  to  see  her  until 
late  tonight." 

Miss  Benham's  name  was  on  the  tip  of  the  banker's 
tongue,  but,  glancing  at  Corrigan's  face,  he  decided  that 
it  was  no  time  for  that  particular  brand  of  levity.  He 
grabbed  his  hat  and  stepped  out  of  the  front  door. 

Left  alone,  Corrigan  paced  slowly  back  and  forth  in 
the  room,  his  brows  furrowed  thoughtfully.  Trevison 
had  become  an  important  figure  in  his  mind.  Corrigan 
had  not  hinted  to  Braman,  to  Trevison,  or  to  Miss 
Benham,  of  the  actual  situation  —  nor  would  he.  But 
during  his  first  visit  to  town  that  morning  he  had  stood 
in  one  of  the  front  windows  of  a  saloon  across  the 
street.  He  had  not  been  getting  acquainted,  as  he  had 
told  Miss  Benham,  for  the  saloon  had  been  the  first 
place  that  he  had  entered,  and  after  getting  a  drink 
at  the  bar  he  had  sauntered  to  the  window.  From  there 
he  had  seen  "Brand"  Trevison  ride  into  town,  and 
because  Trevison  made  an  impressive  figure  he  had 
watched  him,  instinctively  aware  that  in  the  rider  of  the 
black  horse  was  a  quality  of  manhood  that  one  meets 


46 "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

rarely.  Trevison's  appearance  had  caused  him  a  throb 
of  disquieting  envy. 

He  had  noticed  Trevison's  start  upon  getting  his 
first  glimpse  of  the  private  car  on  the  siding.  He  had 
followed  Trevison's  movements  carefully,  and  with 
increased  disquiet.  For,  instead  of  dismounting  and 
going  into  a  saloon  or  a  store,  Trevison  had  urged 
the  black  on,  past  the  private  car,  which  he  had  exam 
ined  leisurely  and  intently.  The  clear  morning  air 
made  objects  at  a  distance  very  distinct,  and  as  Trevison 
had  ridden  past  the  car,  Corrigan  had  seen  a  flutter  at 
one  of  the  windows;  had  caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of 
Rosalind  Benham's  face.  He  had  seen  Trevison  ride 
away,  to  return  for  a  second  view  of  the  car  a  few 
minutes  later.  At  breakfast,  Corrigan  had  not  failed 
to  note  Miss  Benham's  lingering  glances  at  the  black 
horse,  and  again,  in  the  bank,  with  her  standing  at 
the  door,  he  had  noticed  her  interest  in  the  black  horse 
and  its  rider.  His  quickly-aroused  jealousy  and  hatred 
had  driven  him  to  the  folly  of  impulsive  action,  a 
method  which,  until  now,  he  had  carefully  evaded. 
Yes,  he  had  found  "  Brand"  Trevison  a  worthy  antag 
onist —  Braman  had  him  appraised  correctly. 

Corrigan's  smile  was  bitter  as  he  again  walked  into 
the  rear  room  and  surveyed  his  reflection  in  the  glass. 
Disgusted,  he  turned  to  one  of  the  windows  and  looked 
out.  From  where  he  stood  he  could  see  straight  down 
the  railroad  tracks  to  the  cut,  down  the  wall  of  which, 
some  hours  before,  Trevison  had  ridden  the  black 
horse.  The  dinky  engine,  with  its  train  of  flat-cars,  was 
steaming  toward  him.  As  he  watched,  engine  and 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  POWER  47 

cars  struck  the  switch  and  ran  onto  the  siding,  where 
they  came  to  a  stop.  Corrigan  frowned  and  looked  at 
his  watch.  It  lacked  fully  three  hours  to  quitting  time, 
and  the  cars  were  empty,  save  for  the  laborers  draped 
on  them,  their  tools  piled  in  heaps.  While  Corrigan 
watched,  the  laborers  descended  from  the  cars  and 
swarmed  toward  their  quarters  —  a  row  of  tent-houses 
near  the  siding.  A  big  man  —  Corrigan  knew  him 
later  as  Patrick  Carson  —  swung  down  from  the  engine- 
cab  and  lumbered  toward  the  little  frame  station  house, 
in  a  window  of  which  the  telegrapher  could  be  seen, 
idly  scanning  a  week-old  newspaper.  Carson  spoke 
shortly  to  the  telegrapher,  at  which  the  latter  motioned 
toward  the  bank  building  and  the  private  car.  Then 
Carson  came  toward  the  bank  building.  An  instant 
later,  Carson  came  in  the  front  door  and  met  Corrigan 
at  the  wire  netting. 

"Hullo,"  said  the  Irishman,  without  preliminaries; 
"  the  agent  was  tellin'  me  I'd  find  a  mon  named  Corri 
gan  here.  You're  in  charge,  eh?"  he  added  at  Corri- 
gan's  affirmative.  "Well,  bedad,  somebody's  got  to 
be  in  charge  from  now  on.  The  Willie-boy  engineer 
from  who  I've  been  takin'  me  orders  has  sneaked  away 
to  Dry  Bottom  for  a  couple  av  days,  shovin'  the  ray- 
sponsibility  on  me  —  an'  I  ain't  feelin'  up  to  it.  I'm  a 
daisy  construction  boss,  if  I  do  say  it  meself,  but  I  ain't 
enough  of  a  fightin'  mon  to  buck  the  business  end  av  a 
six-shooter." 

"What's  up?" 

"  Mebbe  you'd  know  —  he  said  you'd  be  sure  to. 
I've  been  parleyin'  wid  a  fello'  named  '  Firebrand ' 


48  "FIREBRAND"  TREVISON 

Trevison,  an'  I'm  that  soaked  wid  perspiration  that  me 
boots  is  full  av  it,  after  me  thryin'  to  urge  him  to  be 
dacently  careful  wid  his  gun !  " 

"What  happened?  "  asked  Corrigan,  darkly. 

"This  mon  Trevison  came  down  through  the  cut  this 
mornin',  goin'  to  town.  He  was  pleasant  as  a  mon 
who's  had  a  raise  in  wages,  an'  he  was  joshin'  wid  us. 
A  while  ago  he  comes  back  from  town,  an'  he's  that 
cold  an'  polite  that  he'd  freeze  ye  while  he's  takin' 
his  hat  off  to  ye.  One  av  his  arms  is  busted,  an'  he's 
got  a  welt  or  two  on  his  face.  But  outside  av  that  he's 
all  right.  He  rides  down  into  the  cut  where  we're  all 
workin'  fit  to  kill  ourselves.  He  halts  his  big  black 
horse  about  forty  or  fifty  feet  away  from  the  ol'  rattle- 
box  that  runs  the  steam  shovel,  an'  he  grins  like  a  tiger 
at  me  an'  says: 

" '  Carson,  I'm  wantin'  you  to  pull  your  min  off.  I 
can't  permit  anny  railroad  min  on  the  Diamond  K 
property.  You're  a  friend  av  mine,  an'  all  that,  but 
you'll  have  to  pull  your  freight.  You've  got  tin  min 
utes.' 

"  '  I've  got  me  orders  to  do  this  work,'  I  says  —  beg 
ging  his  pardon. 

"' Here's  your  orders  to  stop  doin'  it!'  he  comes 
back.  An'  I  was  inspectin'  the  muzzle  av  his  six- 
shooter. 

"'Ye  wudn't  shoot  a  mon  for  doin'  his  duthy?'  I 
says. 

cThry  me,'  he  says.  'You're  trespassers.  The 
railroad  company  didn't  come  through  wid  the  coin 
for  the  right-of-way.  Your  mon,  Corrigan,  has  got  an 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  POWER  49 

idee  that  he's  goin'  to  bluff  me.  I'm  callin'  his  bluff. 
You've  got  tin  minutes  to  get  out  av  here.  At  the 
end  av  that  time  I  begin  to  shoot.  I've  got  six  cat- 
tridges  in  the  gun,  an'  fifty  more  in  the  belt  around 
me  middle.  An'  I  seldom  miss  whin  I  shoot.  It's  up 
to  you  whether  I  start  a  cemetery  here  or  not,'  he  says, 
cold  an'  ca'mlike. 

"The  ginneys  knowed  somethin'  was  up,  an'  they 
crowded  around.  I  thought  Trevison  was  thryin'  to 
run  a  bluff  on  me,  an'  I  give  orders  for  the  ginneys  to 
go  back  to  their  work. 

"Trevison  didn't  say  another  word,  but  at  the  end 
av  the  tin  minutes  he  grins  that  tiger  grin  av  his  an' 
busts  the  safety  valve  on  the  rattle-box  wid  a  shot 
from  his  pistol.  He  smashes  the  water-gauge  wid 
another,  an'  jammed  one  shot  in  the  oP  rattle-box's 
entrails,  an'  she  starts  to  blow  off  steam  —  shriekin' 
like  a  soul  in  hell.  The  ginneys  throwed  down  their 
tools  an'  started  to  climb  up  the  walls  of  the  cut  like 
a  gang  av  monkeys,  Trevison  watchin'  thim  with  a 
grin  as  cold  as  a  barrow  ful  ov  icicles.  Murph',  the 
engineer  av  the  dinky,  an'  his  fireman,  ducks  for  the 
engine-cab,  Pavin'  me  standin'  there  to  face  the  music. 
Trevison  yells  at  the  engineer  av  the  rattle-box,  an1 
he  disappears  like  a  rat  into  a  hole.  Thin  Trevison 
swings  his  gun  on  me,  an'  I  c'u'd  feel  me  knees  knockin' 
together.  'Carson,'  he  says,  ll  hate  like  blazes  to  do 
it,  but  you're  the  boss  here,  an'  these  min  will  do  what 
you  tell  thim  to  do.  Tell  thim  to  get  to  hell  out  of 
here  an'  not  come  back,  or  I'll  down  you,  sure  as  me 
name's  Trevison ! ' 


5Q  "FIREBRAND"   TREASON 

"  I'm  old  enough  to  know  from  lookin'  at  a  mon 
whether  he  manes  business  or  not,  an'  Trevison  wasn't 
foolin'.  So  I  got  the  bhoys  away,  an1  here  we  are.  If 
you're  in  charge,  it's  up  to  you  to  smooth  things  out. 
Though  from  the  looks  av  your  mug  'Firebrand's' 
been  maulin'  you  some,  too ! " 

Corrigan's  answer  was  a  cold  glare.  "You  quit 
without  a  fight,  eh?"  he  taunted;  "you  let  one  man 
bluff  half  a  hundred  of  you !  " 

Carson's  eyes  brightened.  "  My  recollection  is  that 
'Firebrand'  is  still  holdin'  the  forrt.  Whin  I  got  me 
last  look  at  him  he  was  sittin'  on  the  top  av  the  cut, 
like  he  was  intendin'  to  stay  there  indefinite.  If  ye 
think  he's  bluffin',  mebbe  it'd  be  quite  an  idee  for  you 
to  go  out  there  yourself,  an'  call  it.  I'd  be  willin'  to 
give  ye  me  moral  support." 

"  I'll  call  him  when  I  get  ready."  Corrigan  went  to 
the  desk  and  sat  in  the  chair,  ignoring  Carson,  who 
watched  him  narrowly.  Presently  he  turned  and  spoke 
to  the  man : 

"  Put  your  men  at  work  trueing  up  the  roadbed  on 
the  next  section  back,  until  further  orders." 

"An'  let  'Firebrand'  hold  the  forrt?" 

"Do  as  you're  told!" 

Carson  went  out  to  his  men.  Near  the  station  plat 
form  he  turned  and  looked  back  at  the  bank  building, 
grinning.  "There's  two  bulldogs  comin'  to  grips  in 
this  deal  or  I'm  a  domn  poor  prophet!"  he  said. 

When  Braman  returned  from  his  errand  he  found 
Corrigan  staring  out  of  the  window.  The  banker 
announced  that  Miss  Benham  had  received  Corrigan's 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  POWER  5^ 

message  with  considerable  equanimity,  and  was  re 
warded  for  his  levity  with  a  frown. 

"What's  Carson  and  his  gang  doing  in  town?"  he 
queried. 

Corrigan  told  him,  briefly.  The  banker  whistled 
in  astonishment,  and  his  face  grew  long.  "  I  told  you 
he  is  a  tough  one ! "  he  reminded. 

Corrigan  got  to  his  feet.  "Yes  —  he's  a  tough 
one,"  he  admitted.  "  I'm  forced  to  alter  my  plans  a 
little  —  that's  all.  But  I'll  get  him.  Hunt  up  some 
thing  to  eat,"  he  directed;  "I'm  hungry.  I'm  going 
to  the  station  for  a  few  minutes." 

He  went  out,  and  the  banker  watched  him  until  he 
vanished  around  the  corner  of  a  building.  Then  Bra- 
man  shook  his  head.  "Jeff's  resourceful,"  he  said. 
"But  Trevison  —  "  His  face  grew  solemn.  "What 
a  damned  fool  I  was  to  trip  him  with  that  broom!" 
He  drew  a  pistol  from  a  pocket  and  examined  it 
intently,  then  returned  it  to  the  pocket  and  sat,  star 
ing  with  unseeing  eyes  beyond  the  station  at  the  two 
lines  of  steel  that  ran  out  upon  the  plains  and  stopped 
in  the  deep  cut  on  the  crest  of  which  he  could  see  a  man 
on  a  black  horse. 

Down  at  the  station  Corrigan  was  leaning  on  a 
rough  wooden  counter,  writing  on  a  yellow  paper  pad. 
When  he  had  finished  he  shoved  the  paper  over  to 
the  telegrapher,  who  had  been  waiting: 

J.  CHALFANT  BENHAM,  B —  Building,  New  York. 

Unexpected  opposition  developed.  Trevison.  Give  Lind- 
man  removal  order  immediately.  Communicate  with  me  at 
Dry  Bottom  tomorrow  morning.  CORRIGAN. 


52 "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

Corrigan  watched  the  operator  send  the  message 
and  then  he  returned  to  the  bank  building,  where  he 
found  Braman  setting  out  a  meager  lunch  in  the  rear 
room.  The  two  men  talked  as  they  ate,  mostly  about 
Trevison,  and  the  banker's  face  did  not  lose  its  worried 
expression.  Later  they  smoked  and  talked  and  watched 
while  the  afternoon  sun  grew  mellow;  while  the  som 
ber  twilight  descended  over  the  world  and  darkness 
came  and  obliterated  the  hill  on  which  sat  the  rider  of 
the  black  horse. 

Shortly  after  dark  Corrigan  sent  the  banker  on 
another  errand,  this  time  to  a  boarding-house  at  the 
edge  of  town.  Braman  returned  shortly,  announcing: 
"  He'll  be  ready."  Then,  just  before  midnight  Corrigan 
climbed  into  the  cab  of  the  engine  which  had  brought 
the  private  car,  and  which  was  waiting,  steam  up,  sev 
eral  hundred  feet  down  the  track  from  the  car. 

"All  right!"  said  Corrigan  briskly,  to  the  engi 
neer,  as  he  climbed  in  and  a  flare  from  the  fire-box  suf 
fused  his  face;  "pull  out.  But  don't  make  any  fuss 
about  it — I  don't  want  those  people  in  the  car  to 
know."  And  shortly  afterwards  the  locomotive  glided 
silently  away  into  the  darkness  toward  that  town  in 
which  a  judge  of  the  United  States  Court  had,  a  few 
hours  before,  received  orders  which  had  caused  him 
to  remark,  bitterly:  "So  does  the  past  shape  the 
future." 


CHAPTER  V 

A  TELEGRAM  AND  A  GIRL 

BANKER  BRAMAN  went  to  bed  on  the  cot  in  the 
back  room  shortly  after  Corrigan  departed  from 
Manti.  He  stretched  himself  out  with  a  sigh, 
oppressed  with  the  conviction  that  he  had  done  a  bad 
day's  work  in  antagonizing  Trevison.  The  Diamond 
K  owner  would  repay  him,  he  knew.  But  he  knew,  too, 
that  he  need  have  no  fear  that  Trevison  would  sneak 
about  it.  Therefore  he  did  not  expect  to  feel  Trevison 
at  his  throat  during  the  night.  That  was  some  satis 
faction. 

He  dropped  to  sleep,  thinking  of  Trevison.  He 
awoke  about  dawn  to  a  loud  hammering  on  the  rear 
door,  and  he  scrambled  out  of  bed  and  opened  the 
door  upon  the  telegraph  agent.  That  gentleman  gazed 
at  him  with  grim  reproof. 

"Holy  Moses!"  he  said;  "you're  a  hell  of  a  tight 
sleeper !  I've  been  pounding  on  this  door  for  an  age !  " 
He  shoved  a  sheet  of  paper  under  Braman's  nose. 
"  Here's  a  telegram  for  you." 

Braman  took  the  telegram,  scanning  it,  while  the 
agent  talked  on,  ramblingly.  A  sickly  smile  came  over 
Braman's  face  when  he  finished  reading,  and  then  he 
listened  to  the  agent: 

S3 


54 "FIREBRAND"   TREASON 

"I  got  a  wire  a  little  after  midnight,  asking  me 
if  that  man,  Corrigan,  was  still  in  Manti.  The  engi 
neer  told  me  he  was  taking  Corrigan  back  to  Dry 
Bottom  at  midnight,  and  so  I  knew  he  wasn't  here,  and 
I  clicked  back  '  No/  It  was  from  J.  C.  He  must  have 
connected  with  Corrigan  at  Dry  Bottom.  That  guy 
Trevison  must  have  old  Benham's  goat,  eh?" 

Braman  re-read  the  telegram ;  it  was  directed  to  him : 

Send  my  daughter  to  Trevison  with  cash  in  amount  of  check 
destroyed  by  Corrigan  yesterday.  Instruct  her  to  say  mistake 
made.  No  offense  intended.  Hustle.  J.  C.  BENHAM. 

Braman  slipped  his  clothes  on  and  ran  down  the 
track  to  the  private  car.  He  had  known  J.  C.  Benham 
several  years  and  was  aware  that  when  he  issued  an 
order  he  wanted  it  obeyed,  literally.  The  negro  auto 
crat  of  the  private  car  met  him  at  the  platform  and 
grinned  amply  at  the  banker's  request. 

"  Miss  Benham  done  toP  me  she  am  not  to  be  dis 
turbed  till  eight  o'clock,"  he  objected.  But  the  tele 
gram  in  Braman's  hands  had  instant  effect  upon  the 
black  custodian  of  the  car,  and  shortly  afterward  Miss 
Benham  was  looking  at  the  banker  and  his  telegram  in 
sleepy-eyed  astonishment,  the  door  of  her  compart 
ment  open  only  far  enough  to  permit  her  to  stick  her 
head  out. 

Braman  was  forced  to  do  much  explaining,  and  con 
cluded  by  reading  the  telegram  to  her.  She  drew  every 
thing  out  of  him  except  the  story  of  the  fight. 

"Well,"  she  said  in  the  end,  "  I  suppose  I  shall  have 
to  go.  So  his  name  is  '  Brand '  Trevison.  And  he  won't 


A  TELEGRAM  AND  A  GIRL  55 

permit  the  men  to  work.  Why  did  Mr.  Corrigan 
destroy  the  check?" 

Braman  evaded,  but  the  girl  thought  she  knew. 
Corrigan  had  yielded  to  an  impulse  of  obstinacy  pro 
voked  by  Trevison's  assault  on  him.  It  was  not  good 
business  —  it  was  almost  childish;  but  it  was  human 
to  feel  that  way.  She  felt  a  slight  disappointment  in 
Corrigan,  though;  the  action  did  not  quite  accord  with 
her  previous  estimate  of  him.  She  did  not  know  what 
to  think  of  Trevison.  But  of  course  any  man  who 
would  deliberately  and  brutally  ride  another  man  down, 
would  naturally  not  hesitate  to  adopt  other  lawless 
means  of  defending  himself. 

She  told  Braman  to  have  the  money  ready  for  her 
in  an  hour,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  with  her  morocco 
handbag  bulging,  she  emerged  from  the  front  door  of 
the  bank  and  climbed  the  steps  of  the  private  car, 
which  had  been  pulled  down  to  a  point  in  front  of 
the  station  by  the  dinky  engine,  with  Murphy  presiding 
at  the  throttle. 

Carson  was  standing  on  the  platform  when  Miss 
Benham  climbed  to  it,  and  he  grinned  and  greeted  her 
with : 

"  If  ye  have  no  objections,  ma'am,  I'll  be  ridin'  down 
to  the  cut  with  ye.  Me  name's  Patrick  Carson,  ma'am." 

"I  have  no  objection  whatever,"  said  the  lady,  gra 
ciously.  "I  presume  you  are  connected  with  the  rail 
road?" 

"An'  wid  the  ginneys  that's  buildin'  it,  ma'am,"  he 
supplemented.  "I'm  the  construction  boss  av  this  sec 
tion,  an'  I'm  the  mon  that  had  the  unhappy  experience 


56  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

av  lookin'  into  the  business  end  av  4  Firebrand's '  six- 
shooter  yisterday." 

"  *  Firebrand's '?"  she  said,  with  a  puzzled  look  at 
him. 

"Thot  mon,  Trevison,  ma'am;  that's  what  they  call 
him.  An'  he  fits  it  bedad  —  beggin'  your  pardon." 

"Oh,"  she  said;  "then  you  know  him."  And  she 
felt  a  sudden  interest  in  Carson. 

"  Enough  to  be  certain  he  ain't  to  be  monkeyed  with, 


ma'am." 


She  seemed  to  ignore  this.  u  Please  tell  the  engineer 
to  go  ahead,"  she  told  him.  "And  then  come  into  the 
car  —  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

A  little  later,  with  the  car  clicking  slowly  over  the 
rail-joints  toward  the  cut,  Carson  diffidently  followed 
the  negro  attendant  into  a  luxurious  compartment,  in 
which,  seated  in  a  big  leather-covered  chair,  was  Miss 
Benham.  She  motioned  Carson  to  another  chair,  and 
in  the  conversation  that  followed  Miss  Benham  received 
a  comprehensive  estimate  of  Trevison  from  Carson's 
viewpoint.  It  seemed  unsatisfying  to  her  —  Carson's 
commendation  did  not  appear  to  coincide  with  Trevi- 
son's  performances. 

"Have  you  heard  what  happened  in  Manti  yester 
day?"  she  questioned.  "This  man,  Trevison,  jumped 
his  horse  against  Mr.  Corrigan  and  knocked  him 
down." 

"  I  heard  av  it,"  grinned  Carson.  "  But  I  didn't  see 
it.  Nor  did  I  see  the  daisy  scrap  that  tuk  place  right 
after." 

"Fight?"  she  exclaimed. 


A  TELEGRAM  AND  A  GIRL  57 

Carson  reddened.  "Sure,  ye  haven't  heard  av  it,  an' 
I'm  blabbin'  like  a  kid." 

u  Tell  me  about  it."  Her  eyes  were  aglow  with 
interest. 

"There's  devilish  little  to  tell  —  beggin'  your  par 
don,  ma'am.  But  thim  that  was  in  at  the  finish  is 
waggin'  their  tongues  about  it  bein'  a  dandy  shindy. 
Judgin'  from  the  talk,  nobuddy  got  licked  —  it  was  a 
fair  dhraw.  But  I  sh'ud  judge,  lookin'  at  Corrigan's 
face,  that  it  was  a  darlin'  av  a  scrap." 

She  was  silent,  gazing  contemplatively  out  of  the 
car  window.  Corrigan  had  returned,  after  escorting 
her  to  the  car,  to  engage  in  a  fight  with  Trevison.  That 
was  what  had  occupied  him;  that  was  why  he  had  gone 
away  without  seeing  her.  Well,  Trevison  had  given 
him  plenty  of  provocation. 

"Trevison's  horse  knockin'  Corrigan  down  was  what 
started  it,  they've  been  tellin'  me,"  said  Carson.  "  But 
thim  that  know  Trevison's  black  knows  that  Trevison 
wasn't  to  blame." 

"Not  to  blame?"  she  asked;  "why  not?" 

"  For  the  simple  rayson  thot  in  a  case  like  thot  the 
mon  has  no  control  over  the  baste,  ma'am.  '  Fire 
brand  '  told  me  only  yisterday  mornin'  thot  there  was  no 
holdin'  the  black  whin  somebuddy  tried  to  shoot  wid 
him  on  his  back." 

The  girl  remembered  how  Trevison  had  tried  to 
speak  to  her  immediately  after  the  upsetting  of  Cor 
rigan,  and  she  knew  now,  that  he  had  wanted  to  explain 
his  action.  Reviewing  the  incident  in  the  light  of  Car 
son's  explanation,  she  felt  that  Corrigan  was  quite  as 


58 "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

much  at  fault  as  Trevison.  Somehow,  that  knowledge 
was  vaguely  satisfying. 

She  did  not  succeed  in  questioning  Carson  further 
about  Trevison,  though  there  were  many  points  over 
which  she  felt  a  disturbing  curiosity,  for  Agatha  came 
in  presently,  and  after  nodding  stiffly  to  Carson,  seated 
herself  and  gazed  aloofly  out  of  a  window. 

Carson,  ill  at  ease  in  Agatha's  presence,  soon 
invented  an  excuse  to  go  out  upon  the  platform,  leav 
ing  Rosalind  to  explain  his  presence  in  the  car. 

"  What  on  earth  could  you  have  to  say  to  a  section 
boss  —  or  he  to  you?"  demanded  Agatha.  "  You  are 
becoming  very  —  er  —  indiscreet,  Rosalind." 

The  girl  smiled.  It  was  a  smile  that  would  have 
betrayed  the  girl  had  Agatha  possessed  the  physiog 
nomist's  faculty  of  analyzation,  for  in  it  was  much 
relief  and  renewed  faith.  For  the  rider  of  the  black 
horse  was  not  the  brutal  creature  she  had  thought  him. 

When  the  private  car  came  to  a  stop,  Rosalind  looked 
out  of  the  window  to  see  the  steep  wall  of  the  cut 
towering  above  her.  Aunt  Agatha  still  sat  near,  and 
when  Rosalind  got  up  Agatha  rose  also,  registering 
an  objection: 

"I  think  your  father  might  have  arranged  to  have 
some  man  meet  this  outlaw.  It  is  not,  in  my  opinion, 
a  proper  errand  for  a  girl.  But  if  you  are  determined 
to  go,  I  presume  I  shall  have  to  follow." 

"  It  won't  be  necessary,"  said  Rosalind.  But  Agatha 
set  her  lips  tightly.  And  when  the  girl  reached  the  plat 
form  Agatha  was  close  behind  her. 


A  TELEGRAM  AND  A  GIRL  59 

But  both  halted  on  the  platform  as  they  were  about 
to  descend  the  steps.  They  heard  Carson's  voice,  loud 
and  argumentative: 

"There's  a  lady  aboored,  I  tell  ye!  If  ye  shoot, 
you're  a  lot  of  damned  rapscallions,  an'  I'll  come  up 
there  an'  bate  the  head  off  ye ! " 

"Stow  your  gab  an'  produce  the  lady!"  answered  a 
voice.  It  came  from  above,  and  Rosalind  stepped  down 
to  the  floor  of  the  cut  and  looked  upward.  On  the 
crest  of  the  southern  wall  were  a  dozen  men  —  cow 
boys —  armed  with  rifles,  peering  down  at  the  car. 
They  shifted  their  gaze  to  her  when  she  stepped  into 
view,  and  one  of  them  laughed. 

"  Correct,  boys,"  he  said;  "  it's  a  lady."  There  was 
a  short  silence;  Rosalind  saw  the  men  gather  close  — 
they  were  talking,  but  she  could  not  hear  their  voices. 
Then  the  man  who  had  spoken  first  stepped  to  the  edge 
of  the  cut  and  called:  "What  do  you  want?" 

The  girl  answered:  "I  want  to  speak  with  Mr. 
Trevison." 

"Sorry,  ma'am,"  came  back  the  voice;  "but  Trevi 
son  ain't  here  —  he's  at  the  Diamond  K." 

Rosalind  reached  a  decision  quickly.  "Aunty,"  she 
said;  "  I  am  going  to  the  Diamond  K." 

"I  forbid  you!"  said  Agatha  sternly.  "I  would 
not  trust  you  an  instant  with  those  outlaws  I " 

"Nonsense,"  smiled  Rosalind.  "I  am  coming  up," 
she  called  to  the  man  on  the  crest;  "do  you  mind?" 

The  man  laughed.     "I  reckon  not,  ma'am." 

Rosalind  smiled  at  Carson,  who  was  watching  her 
admiringly,  and  to  the  smile  he  answered,  pointing  east- 


6o "FIREBRAND"  TREVISON 

ward  to  where  the  slope  of  the  hill  melted  into  the 
plains:  "You'll  have  to  go  thot  way,  ma'am."  He 
laughed.  "  You're  perfectly  safe  wid  thim  min,  ma'am 
—  they're  Trevison's — an'  Trevison  wud  shoot  the 
last  mon  av  thim  if  they'd  harm  a  hair  av  your  pretty 
head.  Go  along,  ma'am,  an'  God  bless  ye !  Ye'll  be 
savin'  a  heap  av  throuble  for  me  an'  me  ginneys,  an' 
the  railroad  company."  He  looked  with  bland  derision 
at  Agatha  who  gave  him  a  glance  of  scornful  reproof 
as  she  followed  after  her  charge. 

The  girl  was  panting  when  she  reached  the  crest  of 
the  cut.  Agatha  was  a  little  white,  possibly  more  from 
apprehension  than  from  indignation,  though  that  emo 
tion  had  its  influence;  but  their  reception  could  not 
have  been  more  formal  had  it  taken  place  in  an  eastern 
drawing-room.  For  every  hat  was  off,  and  each  man 
was  trying  his  best  to  conceal  his  interest.  And  when 
men  have  not  seen  a  woman  for  a  long  time,  the  appear 
ance  of  a  pretty  one  makes  it  rather  hard  to  maintain 
polite  poise.  But  they  succeeded,  which  spoke  well 
for  their  manliness.  If  they  exchanged  surreptitious 
winks  over  the  appearance  of  Agatha,  they  are  to  be 
excused,  for  that  lady's  demeanor  was  one  of  frigid 
haughtiness,  which  is  never  quite  impressive  to  those 
who  live  close  to  nature. 

In  an  exchange  of  words,  brief  and  pointed,  Rosa 
lind  learned  that  it  was  three  miles  to  the  Diamond  K 
ranchhouse,  and  that  Trevison  had  given  orders  not 
to  be  disturbed  unless  the  railroad  company  attempted 
to  continue  work  at  the  cut.  Could  she  borrow  one  of 
their  horses,  and  a  guide? 


A  TELEGRAM  AND  A  GIRL  61 

" You  bet!"  emphatically  returned  the  spokesman 
who,  she  learned  later,  was  Trevison's  foreman.  She 
should  have  the  gentlest  "  cayuse "  in  the  "  bunch," 
and  the  foreman  would  do  the  guiding,  himself.  At 
which  word  Agatha,  noting  the  foreman's  enthusiasm, 
glared  coldly  at  him. 

But  here  Agatha  was  balked  by  the  insurmountable 
wall  of  convention.  She  had  ridden  horses,  to  be  sure, 
in  her  younger  days;  but  when  the  foreman,  at  Rosa 
lind's  request,  offered  her  a  pony,  she  sniffed  scorn 
fully  and  marched  down  the  slope  -toward  the  private 
car,  saying  that  if  Rosalind  was  determined  to  persist 
she  might  persist  without  her  assistance.  For  there 
was  no  side-saddle  in  the  riding  equipment  of  the  out 
fit.  And  Rosalind,  quite  aware  of  the  prudishness 
exhibited  by  her  chaperon,  and  not  unmindful  of  the 
mirth  that  the  men  were  trying  their  best  to  keep  con 
cealed,  rode  on  with  the  foreman,  with  something 
resembling  thankfulness  for  the  temporary  freedom 
tugging  at  her  heart. 

Trevison  had  camped  all  night  on  the  crest  of  the 
cut.  It  was  only  at  dawn  that  Barkwell,  the  foreman 
who  had  escorted  Rosalind,  had  appeared  at  the  cut 
on  his  way  to  town,  and  discovered  him,  and  then  the 
foreman's  plans  were  changed  and  he  was  dispatched 
to  the  Diamond  K  for  reinforcements.  Trevison  had 
ridden  back  to  the  Diamond  K  to  care  for  his  arm, 
which  had  pained  him  frightfully  during  the  night,  and 
at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  was  stretched  out, 
fully  dressed  and  wide  awake  on  the  bed  in  his  room 


62 "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

in  the  ranchhouse,  frowningly  reviewing  the  events  of 
the  day  before. 

He  was  in  no  good  humor,  and  when  he  heard 
Barkwell  hallooing  from  the  yard  near  the  house,  he 
got  up  and  looked  out  of  a  window,  a  scowl  on  his 
face. 

Rosalind  was  not  in  the  best  of  spirits,  herself,  for 
during  the  ride  to  the  ranchhouse  she  had  been  send 
ing  subtly-questioning  shafts  at  the  foreman  —  ques 
tions  that  mostly  concerned  Trevison  —  and  they  had 
all  fell,  blunted  and  impotent,  from  the  armor  of  Bark- 
well's  reticence.  But  a  glance  at  Trevison's  face,  ludi 
crous  in  its  expression  of  stunned  amazement,  brought 
a  broad  smile  to  her  own.  She  saw  his  lips  form  her 
name,  and  then  she  waited  demurely  until  she  saw 
him  coming  out  of  the  ranchhouse  door  toward  her. 

He  had  quite  recovered  from  his  surprise,  she  noted; 
his  manner  was  that  of  the  day  before,  when  she  had 
seen  him  riding  the  black  horse.  When  she  saw  him 
coming  lightly  toward  her,  she  at  first  had  eyes  for 
nothing  but  his  perfect  figure,  feeling  the  strength  that 
his  close-fitting  clothing  revealed  so  unmistakably,  and 
an  unaccountable  blush  glowed  in  her  cheeks.  And 
then  she  observed  that  his  left  arm  was  in  a  sling,  and 
a  flash  of  wondering  concern  swept  over  her  —  also 
unaccountable.  And  then  he  was  at  her  stirrup,  smil 
ing  up  at  her  broadly  and  cordially. 

"Welcome  to  the  Diamond  K,  Miss  Benham,"  he 
said.  "Won't  you  get  off  your  horse?" 

"Thank  you;  I  came  on  business  and  must  return 
immediately.  There  has  been  a  misunderstanding,  my 


A  TELEGRAM  AND  A  GIRL  63 

father  says.  He  wired  me,  directing  me  to  apologize, 
for  him,  for  Mr.  Corrigan's  actions  of  yesterday.  Per 
haps  Mr.  Corrigan  over-stepped  his  authority —  I  have 
no  means  of  knowing."  She  passed  the  morocco  bag 
over  to  him,  and  he  took  it,  looking  at  it  In  some  per 
plexity.  "You  will  find  cash  in  there  to  the  amount 
named  by  the  check  that  Mr.  Corrigan  destroyed.  I 
hope,"  she  added,  smiling  at  him,  "that  there  will  be 
no  more  trouble." 

"The  payment  of  this  money  for  the  right-of-way 
removes  the  provocation  for  trouble,"  he  laughed. 
"  Barkwell,"  he  directed,  turning  to  the  foreman;  "you 
may  go  back  to  the  outfit."  He  looked  after  the  fore 
man  as  the  latter  rode  away,  turning  presently  to 
Rosalind.  "If  you  will  wait  a  few  minutes,  until  I 
stow  this  money  in  a  safe  place,  I'll  ride  back  to  the 
cut  with  you  and  pull  the  boys  off." 

She  had  wondered  much  over  the  rifles  in  the  hands 
of  his  men  at  the  cut.  "Would  your  men  have  used 
their  guns?"  she  asked. 

He  had  turned  to  go  to  the  house,  and  he  wheeled 
quickly,  astonished.  "Certainly!"  he  said;  "why 
not?" 

"That  would  be  lawlessness,  would  it  not?"  It 
made  her  shiver  slightly  to  hear  him  so  frankly  con 
fess  to  murderous  designs. 

"It  was  not  my  quarrel,"  he  said,  looking  at  her 
narrowly,  his  brows  contracted.  "Law  is  all  right 
where  everybody  accepts  it  as  a  governor  to  their 
actions.  I  accept  it  when  it  deals  fairly  with  me  — 
when  it's  just.  Certain  rights  are  mine,  and  I'll  fight 


64  "FIREBRAND"   TREVISON 

for  them.  This  situation  was  brought  on  by  Corrigan's 
obstinacy.  We  had  a  fight,  and  it  peeved  him  because 
I  wouldn't  permit  him  to  hammer  my  head  off.  He 
destroyed  the  check,  and  as  the  company's  option 
expired  yesterday  it  was  unlawful  for  the  company  to 
trespass  on  my  land." 

"Well,"  she  smiled,  ajfected  by  his  vehemence;  "we 
shall  have  peace  now,  presumably.  And — "  she  red 
dened  again  "  —  I  want  to  ask  your  pardon  on  my  own 
account,  for  speaking  to  you  as  I  did  yesterday.  I 
thought  you  brutal  —  the»  way  you  rode  your  horse 
over  Mr.  Corrigan.  Mr.  Carson  assured  me  that  the 
horse  was  to  blame." 

"I  am  indebted  to  Carson,"  he  laughed,  bowing. 
Rosalind  watched  him  go  into  the  house,  and  then 
turned  and  inspected  her  surroundings.  The  house  was 
big,  roomy,  with  a  massive  hip  roof.  A  paved  gallery 
stretched  the  entire  length  of  the  front — she  would 
have  liked  to  rest  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  heavy  rocker 
that  stood  in  its  cool  shadows.  No  woman  lived  here, 
she  was  certain,  because  there  was  a.  lack  of  evidence 
of  woman's  handiwork  —  no  filmy  curtains  at  the  win 
dows —  merely  shades;  no  cushion  was  on  the  chair  — 
which,  by  the  way,  looked  lonesome  —  but  perhaps  that 
was  merely  her  imagination.  Much  dust  had  gathered 
on  the  gallery  floor  and  on  the  sash  of  the  windows  — 
a  woman  would  have  had  things  looking  differently. 
And  so  she  divined  that  Trevison  was  not  married. 
It  surprised  her  to  discover  that  that  thought  had  been 
in  her  mind,  and  she  turned  to  continue  her  inspection, 
filled  with  wonder  that  it  had  been  there. 


A  TELEGRAM  AND  A  GIRL  65 

She  got  an  impression  of  breadth  and  spaciousness 
out  of  her  survey  of  the  buildings  and  the  surrounding 
country.  The  buildings  were  in  good  condition ;  every 
thing  looked  substantial  and  homelike  and  her  con 
templation  of  it  aroused  in  her  a  yearning  for  a  house 
and  land  in  this  section  of  the  country,  it  was  so  peace 
ful  and  dignified  in  comparison  with  the  life  she  knew. 

She  watched  Trevison  when  he  emerged  from  the 
house,  and  smiled  when  he  returned  the  empty  hand 
bag.  He  went  to  a  small  building  near  a  fenced  enclos 
ure —  the  corral,  she  learned  afterward  —  and  came 
out  carrying  a  saddle,  which  he  hung  on  the  fence 
while  he  captured  the  black  horse,  which  she  had 
already  observed.  The  animal  evaded  capture,  play 
fully,  but  in  the  end  it  trotted  mincingly  to  Trevison 
and  permitted  him  to  throw  the  bridle  on.  Then, 
shortly  afterward  he  mounted  the  black  and  together 
they  rode  back  toward  the  cut. 

As  they  rode  the  girl's  curiosity  for  the  man  who 
rode  beside  her  grew  acute.  She  was  aware  —  she 
had  been  aware  all  along — that  he  was  far  different 
from  the  other  men  of  Manti  —  there  was  about  him 
an  atmosphere  of  refinement  and  quiet  confidence  that 
mingled  admirably  with  his  magnificent  physical  force, 
tempering  it,  suggesting  reserve  power,  hinting  of  excel 
lent  mental  capacity.  She  determined  to  know  some 
thing  about  him.  And  so  she  began  subtly: 

"In  a  section  of  country  so  large  as  this  it  seems 
that  our  American  measure  of  length  —  a  mile  — 
should  be  stretched  to  something  that  would  more  ade 
quately  express  size.  Don't  you  think  so?" 


66  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

He  looked  quickly  at  her.  "That  is  an  odd 
thought,'*  he  laughed,  "but  it  inevitably  attacks  the 
person  who  views  the  yawning  distances  here  for  the 
first  time.  Why  not  use  the  English  mile  if  the  Amer 
ican  doesn't  satisfy?" 

"There  is  a  measure  that  exceeds  that,  isn't  there? 
Wasn't  there  a  Persian  measure  somewhat  longer, 
fathered  by  Herodotus  or  another  of  the  ancients?  I 
am  sure  there  was  —  or  is  —  but  I  have  forgotten?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "  —  a  parasang."  He  looked  nar 
rowly  at  her  and  saw  her  eyes  brighten. 

She  had  made  progress;  she  felt  much  satisfaction. 

"  You  are  not  a  native,"  she  said. 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"  Cowboys  do  not  commonly  measure  their  distances 
with  parasangs,"  she  laughed. 

"Nor  do  ordinary  women  try  to  shake  off  ennui  by 
coming  West  in  private  cars,"  he  drawled. 

She  started  and  looking  quickly  at  him.  "How  did 
you  know  that  was  what  happened  to  me?"  she  de 
manded. 

"  Because  you're  too  spirited  and  vigorous  to  spend 
your  life  dawdling  in  society.  You  yearn  for  action, 
for  the  broad,  free  life  of  the  open.  You're  in  love 
with  this  country  right  now." 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  astonished;  "but  how  do  you 
know?" 

"You  might  have  sent  a  man  here  in  your  place  — 
Braman,  for  instance;  he  could  be  trusted.  You  came 
yourself,  eager  for  adventure  —  you  came  on  a  bor 
rowed  horse.  When  you  were  looking  at  the  country 


A  TELEGRAM  AND  A  GIRL  67 

from  the  horse  in  front  of  my  house,  I  saw  you 
sigh." 

"Well,"  she  said,  with  flushed  face  and  glowing 
eyes;  "I  have  decided  to  live  out  here  —  for  a  time, 
at  least.  So  you  were  watching  me?" 

"Just  a  glance,"  he  defended,  grinning;  "  I  couldn't 
help  it.  Please  forgive  me." 

"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to,"  she  laughed,  delighted, 
reveling  in  this  freedom  of  speech,  in  his  directness. 
His  manner  touched  a  spark  somewhere  in  her,  she 
felt  strangly  elated,  exhilarated.  When  she  reflected 
that  this  was  only  their  second  meeting  and  that  she 
had  not  been  conventionally  introduced  to  him,  she 
was  amazed.  Had  a  stranger  of  her  set  talked  to  her 
so  familiarly  she  would  have  resented  it.  Out  here  it 
seemed  to  be  perfectly  natural. 

"  How  do  you  know  I  borrowed  a  horse  to  come 
here?"  she  asked. 

"That's  easy,"  he  grinned;  "there's  the  Diamond  K 
brand  on  his  hip." 

"Oh." 

They  rode  on  a  little  distance  in  silence,  and  then 
she  remembered  that  she  was  still  curious  about  him. 
His  frankness  had  affected  her;  she  did  not  think  it 
impertinent  to  betray  curiosity. 

"How  long  have  you  lived  out  here?"  she  asked. 

"About  ten  years." 

"You  weren't  born  here,  of  course  —  you  have 
admitted  that.  Then  where  did  you  come  from?  " 

"  This  is  a  large  country,"  he  returned,  unsmilingly. 

It  was  a  reproof,  certainly — Rosalind  could  go  no 


68 "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

farther  in  that  direction.  But  her  words  had  brought 
a  mystery  into  existence,  thus  sharpening  her  interest 
in  him.  She  was  conscious,  though,  of  a  slight  pique  — 
what  possible  reason  could  he  have  for  evasion?  He 
had  not  the  appearance  of  a  fugitive  from  justice. 

"So  you're  going  to  live  out  here?"  he  said,  after 
an  interval.  "Where?" 

"  I  heard  father  speak  of  buying  Blakeley's  place. 
Do  you  know  where  it  is  ?  " 

"It  adjoins  mine."  There  was  a  leaping  note  in 
his  voice,  which  she  did  not  fail  to  catch.  "  Do  you 
see  that  dark  line  over  there?"  He  pointed  east 
ward —  a  mile  perhaps.  "That's  a  gully;  it  divides 
my  land  from  Blakeley's.  Blakeley  told  me  a  month 
ago  that  he  was  dickering  with  an  eastern  man.  If 
you  are  thinking  of  looking  the  place  over,  and  want 
a  trustworthy  escort  I  should  be  pleased  to  recom 
mend —  myself."  And  he  grinned  widely  at  her. 

"I  shall  consider  your  offer  —  and  I  thank  you  for 
it,"  she  returned.  "  I  feel  positive  that  father  will  buy 
a  ranch  here,  for  he  has  much  faith  in  the  future  of 
Manti  —  he  is  obsessed  with  it." 

He  looked  sharply  at  her.  "Then  your  father  is 
going  to  have  a  hand  in  the  development  of  Manti? 
I  heard  a  rumor  to  the  effect  that  some  eastern  com 
pany  was  interested,  had,  in  fact,  secured  the  water 
rights  for  an  enormous  section." 

She  remembered  what  Corrigan  had  told  her,  and 
blushingly  dissembled: 

"I  put  no  faith  in  rumor  —  do  you?  Mr.  Corri 
gan  is  the  head  of  the  company  which  is  to  develop 


A  TELEGRAM  AND  A  GIRL  69 

Manti.  But  of  course  that  is  an  eastern  company, 
isn't  it?" 

He  nodded,  and  she  smiled  at  a  thought  that  came 
to  her.  "How  far  is  it  to  Blakeley's  ranchhouse?" 
she  asked. 

"About  two  parasangs,"  he  answered  gravely. 

"Well,"  she  said,  mimicking  him;  "I  could  never 
walk  there,  could  I  ?  If  I  go,  I  shall  have  to  borrow  a 
horse  —  or  buy  one.  Could  you  recommend  a  horse 
that  would  be  as  trustworthy  as  the  escort  you  have 
promised  me?" 

"We  shall  go  to  Blakeley's  tomorrow,"  he  told  her. 
"  I  shall  bring  you  a  trustworthy  horse  at  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning." 

They  were  approaching  the  cut,  and  she  nodded  an 
acceptance.  An  instant  later  he  was  talking  to  his 
men,  and  she  sat  near  him,  watching  them  as  they 
raced  over  the  plains  toward  the  Diamond  K  ranch- 
house.  One  man  remained;  he  was  without  a  mount, 
and  he  grinned  with  embarrassment  when  Rosalind's 
gaze  rested  on  him. 

"Oh,"  she  said;  "you  are  waiting  for  your  horse! 
How  stupid  of  me!"  She  dismounted  and  turned  the 
animal  over  to  him.  When  she  looked  around,  Trev- 
ison  had  also  dismounted  and  was  coming  toward  her, 
leading  the  black,  the  reins  looped  through  his  arm. 
Rosalind  flushed,  and  thought  of  Agatha,  but  offered 
no  objection. 

It  was  a  long  walk  down  the  slope  of  the  hill  and 
around  its  base  to  the  private  car,  but  they  made  it 
still  longer  by  walking  slowly  and  taking  the  most 


7o  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

roundabout  way.  Three  persons  saw  them  coming — 
Agatha,  standing  rigid  on  the  platform;  the  negro 
attendant,  standing  behind  Agatha  in  the  doorway, 
his  eyes  wide  with  interest;  and  Carson,  seated  on  a 
boulder  a  little  distance  down  the  cut,  grinning  broadly. 
"  Bedad,"  he  rumbled;  "the  bhoy's  made  a  hit  wid 
her,  or  I'm  a  sinner!  But  didn't  I  know  he  wud? 
The  two  bulldogs  is  goin'  to  have  it  now,  sure  as  I'm 
a  foot  high!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  JUDICIAL  PUPPET 

BOWLING  along  over  the  new  tracks  toward 
Manti  in  a  special  car  secured  at  Dry  Bottom  by 
Corrigan,  one  compartment  of  which  was  packed  closely 
with  books,  papers,  ledger  records,  legal  documents, 
blanks,  and  even  office  furniture,  Judge  Lindman 
watched  the  landscape  unfold  with  mingled  feelings 
of  trepidation,  reluctance,  and  impotent  regret.  The 
Judge's  face  was  not  a  strong  one  —  had  it  been  he 
would  not  have  been  seated  in  the  special  car,  talking 
with  Corrigan.  He  was  just  under  sixty-five  years, 
and  their  weight  seemed  to  rest  heavily  upon  him. 
His  eyes  were  slightly  bleary,  and  had  a  look  of  weari 
ness,  as  though  he  had  endured  much  and  was  utterly 
tired.  His  mouth  was  flaccid,  the  lips  pouting  when 
he  compressed  his  jaws,  giving  his  face  the  sullen,  inde 
cisive  look  of  the  brooder  lacking  the  mental  and  phys 
ical  courage  of  independent  action  and  initiative.  The 
Judge  could  be  led;  Corrigan  was  leading  him  now, 
and  the  Judge  was  reluctant,  but  his  courage  had  oozed, 
back  in  Dry  Bottom,  when  Corrigan  had  mentioned  a 
culpable  action  which  the  Judge  had  regretted  many 
times. 

Some  legal  records  of  the  county  were  on  the  table 

71 


72 "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

between  the  two  men.  The  Judge  had  objected  when 
Corrigan  had  secured  them  from  the  compartment 
where  the  others  were  piled. 

"It  isn't  regular,  Mr.  Corrigan,"  he  had  said;  "no 
one  except  a  legally  authorized  person  has  the  right  to 
look  over  those  books." 

"We'll  say  that  I  am  legally  authorized,  then," 
grinned  Corrigan.  The  look  in  his  eyes  was  one  of 
amused  contempt.  "  It  isn't  the  only  irregular  thing 
you  have  done,  Lindman." 

The  Judge  subsided,  but  back  in  his  eyes  was  a 
slumbering  hatred  for  this  man,  who  was  forcing  him 
to  complicity  in  another  crime.  He  regretted  that 
other  crime;  why  should  this  man  deliberately  remind 
him  of  it? 

After  looking  over  the  records,  Corrigan  outlined  a 
scheme  of  action  that  made  the  Judge's  face  blanch. 

"  I  won't  be  a  party  to  any  such  scurrilous  under 
taking!"  he  declared  when  he  could  trust  his  voice; 
"I  —  I  won't  permit  it!" 

Corrigan  stretched  his  legs  out  under  the  table, 
shoved  his  hands  into  his  trousers'  pockets  and  laughed. 

"Why  the  high  moral  attitude,  Judge?  It  doesn't 
become  you.  Refuse  if  you  like.  When  we  get  to 
Manti  I  shall  wire  Benham.  It's  likely  he'll  feel  pretty 
sore.  He's  got  his  heart  set  on  this.  And  I  have 
no  doubt  that  after  he  gets  my  wire  he'll  jump  the 
next  train  for  Washington,  and  —  " 

The  Judge  exclaimed  with  weak  incoherence,  and  a 
few  minutes  later  he  was  bending  over  the  records 
with  Corrigan  —  the  latter  making  sundry  copies  on 


A  JUDICIAL  PUPPET 73 

a  pad  of  paper,  which  he  placed  in  a  pocket  when  the 
work  was  completed. 

At  noon  the  special  car  was  in  Manti.  Corrigan,  the 
Judge,  and  Braman,  carried  the  Judge's  effects  and 
stored  them  in  the  rear  room  of  the  bank  building. 
"  I'll  build  you  a  courthouse,  tomorrow,"  he  promised 
the  Judge;  ubig  enough  for  you  and  a  number  of 
deputies.  You'll  need  deputies,  you  know."  He  grinned 
as  the  Judge  shrank.  Then,  leaving  the  Judge  in  the 
room  with  his  books  and  papers,  Corrigan  drew  Braman 
outside. 

"  I  got  hell  from  Benham  for  destroying  Trevison's 
check  —  he  wired  me  to  attend  to  my  other  deals  and 
let  him  run  the  railroad  —  the  damned  old  fool!  You 
must  have  taken  the  cash  to  Trevison  —  I  see  the  gang's 
working  again." 

"The  cash  went,"  said  the  banker,  watching  Cor 
rigan  covertly,  "but  I  didn't  take  it.  J.  C.  wired 
explicit  orders  for  his  daughter  to  act." 

Corrigan  cursed  viciously,  his  face  dark  with  wrath 
as  he  turned  to  look  at  the  private  car,  on  the  switch. 
The  banker  watched  him  with  secret,  vindictive  enjoy 
ment.  Miss  Benham  had  judged  Braman  correctly  — 
he  was  cold,  crafty,  selfish,  and  wholly  devoid  of  sym 
pathy.  He  was  for  Braman.  first  and  last  —  and  in 
the  interim. 

"Miss  Benham  went  to  the  cut — so  I  hear,"  he 
went  on,  smoothly.  "Trevison  wasn't  there.  Miss 
Benham  went  to  the  Diamond  K."  His  eyes  gleamed 
as  Corrigan's  hands  clenched.  "  Trevison  rode  back  to 
the  car  with  her — which  she  had  ordered  taken  to  the 


74  "FIREBRAND"   TREASON 

cut,"  went  on  the  banker.  "And  this  morning  about 
ten  o'clock  Trevison  came  here  with  a  led  horse.  He 
and  Miss  Benham  rode  away  together.  I  heard  her 
tell  her  aunt  they  were  going  to  Blakeley's  ranch  — 
it's  about  eight  miles  from  here." 

Corrigan's  face  went  white.  "  I'll  kill  him  for  that !  " 
he  said. 

"Jealous,  eh?"  laughed  the  banker.  "So,  that's 
the  reason  —  " 

Corrigan  turned  and  struck  bitterly.  The  banker's 
jaws  clacked  sharply  —  otherwise  he  fell  silently,  strik 
ing  his  head  against  the  edge  of  the  step  and  rolling, 
face  down,  into  the  dust. 

When  he  recovered  and  sat  up,  Corrigan  had  gone. 
The  banker  gazed  foolishly  around  at  a  world  that 
was  still  reeling — felt  his  jaw  carefully,  wonder  and 
astonishment  in  his  eyes. 

"What  do  you  know  about  that?"  he  asked  of  the 
surrounding  silence.  "  I've  kidded  him  about  women 
before,  and  he  never  got  sore.  He  must  be  in  love !  " 

Riding  through  a  saccaton  basin,  the  green-brown 
tips  so  high  that  they  caught  at  their  stirrups  as  they 
rode  slowly  along;  a  white,  smiling  sky  above  them  and 
Blakeley's  still  three  miles  away,  Miss  Benham  and 
Trevison  were  chatting  gayly  at  the  instant  the  banker 
had  received  Corrigan's  blow. 

Miss  Benham  had  spent  the  night  thinking  of  Trev 
ison,  and  she  had  spent  much  of  her  time  during  the 
present  ride  stealing  glances  at  him.  She  had  discov 
ered  something  about  him  that  had  eluded  her  the 


A  JUDICIAL  PUPPET 75 

day  before  —  an  impulsive  boyishness.  It  was  hidden 
behind  the  manhood  of  him,  so  that  the  casual  observer 
would  not  be  likely  to  see  it;  men  would  have  failed 
to  see  it,  because  she  was  certain  that  with  men  he 
would  not  let  it  be  seen.  But  she  knew  the  reckless 
ness  that  shone  in  his  eyes,  the  energy  that  slumbered 
in  them  ready  to  be  applied  any  moment  in  response 
to  any  whim  that  might  seize  him,  were  traits  that 
had  not  yet  yielded  to  the  stern  governors  of  man 
hood —  nor  would  they  yield  in  many  years  to  come  — 
they  were  the  fountains  of  virility  that  would  keep  him 
young.  She  felt  the  irresistible  appeal  of  him,  respon 
sive  to  the  youth  that  flourished  in  her  own  heart  — 
and  Corrigan,  older,  more  ponderous,  less  addicted 
to  impulse,  grew  distant  in  her  thoughts  and  vision. 
The  day  before  yesterday  her  sympathies  had  been 
with  Corrigan  —  she  had  thought.  But  as  she  rode 
she  knew  that  they  were  threatening  to  desert  him. 
For  this  man  of  heroic  mold  who  rode  beside  her  was 
disquietingly  captivating  in  the  bold  recklessness  of  his 
youth. 

They  climbed  the  far  slope  of  the  basin  and  halted 
their  horses  on  the  crest.  Before  them  stretched  a 
plain  so  big  and  vast  and  inviting  that  it  made  the 
girl  gasp  with  delight. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  awed ;  "  isn't  it  wonderful  ?  " 

"  I  knew  you'd  like  it.11 

"The  East  has  nothing  like  this,"  she  said,  with  a 
broad  sweep  of  the  hand. 

"No,"  he  said. 

She  turned  on  him  triumphantly.     "  There  !  "  she 


76  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

declared;  uyou  have  committed  yourself.  You  are 
from  the  East!" 

"Well,"  he  said;  "I've  never  denied  it." 

Something  vague  and  subtle  had  drawn  them  to 
gether  during  the  ride,  bridging  the  hiatus  of  strange 
ness,  making  them  feel  that  they  had  been  acquainted 
long.  It  did  not  seem  impertinent  to  her  that  she 
should  ask  the  question  that  she  now  put  to  him  — 
she  felt  that  her  interest  in  him  permitted  it: 

'You  are  an  easterner,  and  yet  you  have  been  out 
here  for  about  ten  years.  Your  house  is  big  and  sub 
stantial,  but  I  should  judge  that  it  has  no  comforts, 
no  conveniences.  You  live  there  alone,  except  for 
some  men,  and  you  have  male  servants  —  if  you  have 
any.  Why  should  you  bury  yourself  here?  You  are 
educated,  you  are  young.  There  are  great  opportu 
nities  for  you  in  the  East!" 

She  paused,  for  she  saw  a  cynical  expression  in  his 
eyes. 

"Well?"  she  said,  impatiently,  for  she  had  been 
very  much  in  earnest. 

"  I  suppose  I've  got  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  soberly. 
"I  don't  know  what  has  come  over  me  —  you  seem 
to  have  me  under  a  spell.  I've  never  spoken  about  it 
before.  I  don't  know  why  I  should  now.  But  you've 
got  to  know,  I  presume." 

"Yes." 

"On  your  head  rest  the  blame,"  he  said,  his  grin 
still  cynical;  "and  upon  mine  the  consequences.  It 
isn't  a  pretty  story  to  tell;  it's  only  virtue  is  its  brevity. 
I  was  fired  out  of  college  for  fighting.  The  fellows 


A  JUDICIAL  PUPPET 77 

I  licked  deserved  what  they  got  —  and  I  deserved 
what  I  got  for  breaking  rules.  I've  ahvays  broken 
rules.  I  may  have  broken  laws  —  most  of  us  have. 
My  father  is  wealthy.  The  last  time  I  saw  him  he 
said  I  was  incorrigible  and  a  dunce.  I  admit  the  for 
mer,  but  I'm  going  to  make  him  take  the  other  back. 
I  told  him  so.  He  replied  that  he  was  from  Missouri. 
He  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  make  good  by  cutting  off 
my  allowance.  There  was  a  girl.  When  my  allow 
ance  was  cut  off  she  made  me  feel  cold  as  an  Eskimo. 
Told  me  straight  that  she  had  never  liked  me  in  the 
way  she'd  led  me  to  believe  she  did,  and  that  she 
was  engaged  to  a  real  man.  She  made  the  mistake  of 
telling  me  his  name,  and  it  happened  to  be  one  of  the 
fellows  I'd  had  trouble  with  at  college.  The  girl  lost 
her  temper  and  told  me  things  he'd  said  about  me.  I 
left  New  York  that  night,  but  before  I  hopped  on 
the  train  I  stopped  in  to  see  my  rival  and  gave  him  the 
bulliest  trimming  that  I  had  ever  given  anybody.  I 
came  out  here  and  took  up  a  quarter-section  of  land. 
I  bought  more  —  after  a  while.  I  own  five  thousand 
acres,  and  about  a  thousand  acres  of  it  is  the  best  coal 
land  in  the  United  States.  I  wouldn't  sell  it  for  love 
or  money,  for  when  your  father  gets  his  railroad  run 
ning,  I'm  going  to  cash  in  on  ten  of  the  leanest  and 
hardest  and  lonesomest  years  that  any  man  ever  put  in. 
I'm  going  back  some  day.  But  I  won't  stay.  I've  lived 
in  this  country  so  long  that  it's  got  into  my  heart  and 
soul.  It's  a  golden  paradise." 

She   did  not  share   his   enthusiasm  —  her  thoughts 
were  selfishly  personal,  though  they  included  him. 


78 "FIREBRAND"  TREVISON 

"And  the  girl!"  she  said.  "When  you  go  back, 
would  you  —  " 

"Never!"  he  scoffed,  vehemently.  "That  would 
convince  me  that  I  am  the  dunce  my  father  said  I  was !  " 

The  girl  turned  her  head  and  smiled.  And  a  little 
later,  when  they  were  riding  on  again,  she  murmured 
softly: 

"Ten  years  of  lonesomeness  and  bitterness  to  save 
his  pride !  I  wonder  if  Hester  Keyes  knows  what  she 
has  missed?" 


CHAPTER  VII 

TWO  LETTERS  GO  EAST 

A  FTER  Agatha  retired  that  night  Rosalind  sat  for 
JL\.  a  long  time  writing  at  a  little  desk  in  the  private 
car.  She  was  tingling  with  excitement  over  a  discovery 
she  had  made,  and  was  yearning  for  a  confidante.  Since 
it  had  not  been  her  habit  to  confide  in  Agatha,  she  did 
the  next  best  thing,  which  was  to  indite  a  letter  to  her 
chum,  Ruth  Gresham.  In  one  place  she  wrote: 

"  Do  you  remember  Hester  Keyes'  love  affair  of 
ten  years  ago?  You  certainly  must  remember  it!  If 
you  cannot,  permit  me  to  brush  the  dust  of  forgetful- 
ness  away.  You  cannot  forget  the  night  you  met  Wil 
liam  Kinkaid?  Of  course  you  cannot  forget  that,  for 
when  you  are  Mrs.  Kinkaid —  But  there!  I  won't 
poke  fun  at  you.  But  I  think  every  married  person 
needs  to  treasure  every  shred  of  romance  against  inev 
itable  hum-drum  days.  Isn't  that  a  sad  sentiment?  But 
I  want  to  get  ahead  with  my  reminder." 

There  followed  much  detail,  having  to  do  with  Hes 
ter  Keyes'  party,  to  which  neither  Rosalind  nor  Ruth 
Gresham  had  been  invited,  for  reasons  which  Rosalind 
presently  made  obvious.  She  continued: 

"Of  course,  custom  does  not  permit  girls  of  four 
teen  to  figure  prominently  at  *  coming-out '  parties,  but 

79 


8o "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

after  one  is  there  and  is  relegated  to  a  stair-landing, 
one  may  use  one's  eyes  without  restriction.  Do  you 
remember  my  pointing  out  Hester  Keyes'  *  fellow '  ? 
But  of  course  you  didn't  pay  much  attention  to  him 
after  Billy  Kinkaid  sailed  into  your  vision!  But  I 
envied  Hester  Keyes  her  eighteen  years  —  and  Trev- 
ison  Brandon!  He  had  the  blackest  eyes  and  hair! 
And  he  simply  adored  Hester!  It  made  me  feel  pos 
itively  savage  when  I  heard  shortly  afterward  that 
she  had  thrown  him  over  —  after  his  father  cut  him 
off  —  to  take  up  with  that  fellow  Harvey  —  I  never 
could  remember  his  first  name.  And  she  married  Har 
vey —  and  regretted  it,  until  Harvey  died. 

"  Ruth,  Trevison  Brandon  is  out  here.  He  calls 
himself  'Brand'  Trevison.  I  met  him  two  days  ago, 
and  I  did  not  recognize  him,  he  has  changed  so  much. 
He  puzzled  me  quite  a  little ;  but  not  even  when  I  heard 
his  name  did  I  connect  him  with  the  man  I  had  seen 
at  Hester's  party.  Ten  years  is  such  a  long  time,  isn't 
it?  And  I  never  did  have  much  of  a  memory  for 
names.  But  today  he  went  with  me  to  a  certain  ranch 
- — Blakeley's —  which,  by  the  way,  father  is  going  to 
buy  —  and  on  the  way  we  became  very  much 
acquainted,  and  he  told  me  about  his  love  affair.  I 
placed  him  instantly,  then,  and  why  I  didn't  keel  over 
was,  I  suppose,  because  of  the  curious  big  saddles  they 
have  out  here,  with  enormous  wooden  stirrups  on  them. 
I  can  hear  you  exclaim  over  that  plural,  but  there  are 
no  side-saddles.  That  is  how  it  came  that  I  was 
unchaperoned  —  Agatha  won't  take  liberties  with  them, 
the  saddles.  Thank  Heaven !  " 


TWO  LETTERS  GO  EAST 81 

There  followed  much  more,  with  only  one  further 
reference  to  Trevison: 

"  He  must  be  nearly  thirty  now,  but  he  doesn't  look 
it,  he's  so  boyish.  I  gather,  though,  that  he  is  regarded 
as  a  man  out  here,  where,  I  understand,  manhood  is 
measured  by  something  besides  mere  appearances.  He 
owns  acres  and  acres  of  land  —  some  of  it  has  coal  on 
it;  and  he  is  sure  to  be  enormously  wealthy,  some  day. 
But  I  am  twenty-four,  myself." 

The  startling  irrelevance  of  this  sentence  at  first 
surprised  Ruth  Gresham,  and  then  caused  her  eyes  to 
brighten  understandingly,  as  she  read  the  letter  a  few 
days  later.  She  remarked,  musingly: 

uThe  inevitable  hum-drum  days,  eh?  And  yet  most 
people  long  for  them." 

Another  letter  was  written  when  the  one  to  Ruth 
was  completed.  It  was  to  J.  Chalfant  Benham. 

"DEAR  DADDY: 

The  West  is  a  golden  paradise.  I  could  live  here 
many,  many  years.  I  visited  Mr.  Blakeley  today.  He 
calls  his  ranch  the  Bar  B.  We  wouldn't  have  to  change 
the  brand,  would  we  ?  Trevison  says  the  ranch  is  worth 
all  Blakeley  asks  for  it.  Mr.  Blakeley  says  we  can  take 
possession  immediately,  so  I  have  decided  to  stay  here. 
Mrs.  Blakeley  has  invited  me,  and  I  am  going  to  have 
my  things  taken  over  tomorrow.  Since  the  Blakeley's 
are  anxious  to  sell  out  and  return  South,  don't  you 
think  you  had  better  conclude  the  deal  at  once? 

"Lovingly, 

"  ROSALIND/' 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  CHAOS  OF  CREATION 

THE  West  saw  many  "boom"  towns.  They  fol 
lowed  in  the  wake  of  "  gold  strikes ; "  they  grew, 
mushroom-like,  overnight — garish  husks  of  squalor, 
palpitating,  hardy,  a-tingle  with  extravagant  hopes.  A 
few,  it  is  true,  lived  to  become  substantial  cities  buzzing 
with  the  American  spirit,  panting,  fighting  for  prog 
ress  with  an  energy  that  shamed  the  Old  World,  leth 
argic  in  its  smug  and  self-sufficient  superiority.  But 
many  towns  died  in  their  gangling  youth,  tragic  monu 
ments  to  hopes;  but  monuments  also  to  effort,  and  to 
the  pioneer  courage  and  the  dreams  of  an  empire-build 
ing  people. 

Manti  was  destined  to  live.  It  was  a  boom  town 
with  material  reasons  for  substantial  growth.  Behind 
it  were  the  resources  of  a  railroad  company  which 
would  anticipate  the  development  of  a  section  of  coun 
try  bigger  than  a  dozen  Old-world  states,  and  men 
with  brains  keen  enough  to  realize  the  commercial  pos 
sibilities  it  held.  It  had  Corrigan  for  an  advance  agent 
—  big,  confident,  magnetic,  energetic,  suave,  smooth. 

Manti  had  awaited  his  coming;  he  was  the  magic 
force,  the  fulfillment  of  the  rumored  promise.  He  had 
stayed  away  for  three  weeks,  following  his  departure 

82 


THE  CHAOS  OF  CREATION  83 

on  the  special  car  after  bringing  Judge  Lindman,  and 
when  he  stepped  off  the  car  again  at  the  end  of  that 
time  Manti  was  "  humming,"  as  he  had  predicted.  Dur 
ing  the  three  weeks  of  his  absence,  the  switch  at  Manti 
had  never  been  unoccupied.  Trains  had  been  coming  in 
regularly  bearing  merchandise,  men,  tools,  machines, 
supplies.  Engineers  had  arrived ;  the  basin  near  Manti, 
choked  by  a  narrow  gorge  at  its  westerly  end  (where 
the  dam  was  to  be  built)  was  dotted  with  tents,  wagons, 
digging  implements,  a  miscellany  of  material  whose 
hauling  had  worn  a  rutted  trail  over  the  plains  and 
on  the  slope  of  the  basin,  continually  active  with  wagon- 
train  and  pack  horse,  and  articulate  with  sweating, 
cursing  drivers. 

" She's  a  pippin!"  gleefully  confided  a  sleek-looking 
individual  who  might  have  been  mistaken  for  a  west 
ern  "parson"  had  it  not  been  for  a  certain  sophisti 
cated  cynicism  that  was  prominent  about  him,  and  which 
imparted  a  distasteful  taint  of  his  profession.  "  Give 
me  a  year  of  this  and  I'll  open  a  joint  in  Frisco!  I 
cleaned  out  a  brace  of  bull-whackers  in  the  Plaza  last 
night  —  their  first  pay.  Afterward  I  stung  a  couple  of 
cattlemen  for  a  hundred  each.  Look  at  her  hum!" 

Notwithstanding  that  it  was  midday,  Manti  was 
teeming  with  life  and  action.  Since  the  day  that  Miss 
Benham  had  viewed  the  town  from  the  window  of  the 
private  car,  Manti  had  added  more  than  a  hundred 
buildings  to  its  total.  They  were  not  attractive;  they 
were  ludicrous  in  their  pitiful  masquerade  of  substantial 
types.  Here  and  there  a  three-story  structure  reared 
aloft,  sheathed  with  galvanized  iron,  a  garish  aristo- 


84  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

crat  seemingly  conscious  of  its  superiority,  brazen  in 
its  bid  for  attention;  more  modest  buildings  seemed 
dwarfed,  humiliated,  -squatting  sullenly  and  enviously. 
There  were  hotels,  rooming-houses,  boarding-houses, 
stores,  dwellings,  saloons  —  and  others  which  for  many 
reasons  need  not  be  mentioned.  But  they  were  pul 
sating  with  life,  electric,  eager,  expectant.  Taking 
advantage  of  the  scarcity  of  buildings,  an  enterpris 
ing  citizen  had  erected  tents  in  rows  on  the  street  line, 
for  whose  shelter  he  charged  enormously  —  and  did 
a  capacity  business. 

"A  hundred  came  in  on  the  last  train, "  complained 
the  over-worked  station  agent.  "God  knows  what 
they  all  expect  to  do  here! " 

Corrigan  had  kept  his  promise  to  build  Judge  Lind- 
man  a  courthouse.  It  was  a  flat-roofed  structure,  one 
story  high,  wedged  between  a  saloon  and  Braman's 
bank  building.  A  sign  in  the  front  window  of  Bra 
man's  bank  announced  that  Jefferson  Corrigan,  agent 
of  the  Land  &  Improvement  Company,  of  New  York, 
had  office  space  within,  but  on  the  morning  of  the  day 
following  his  return  to  Manti,  Corrigan  was  seated  at 
one  side  of  a  flat-top  desk  in  the  courthouse,  talking 
with  Judge  Lindman,  who  sat  at  the  other  side. 

"Got  them  all  transcribed?"  asked  Corrigan. 

The  Judge  drew  a  thin  ledger  from  his  desk  and 
passed  it  over  to  Corrigan.  As  Corrigan  turned  the 
pages  and  his  face  lighted,  the  Judge's  grew  correspond 
ingly  troubled. 

"All  right,"  exulted  Corrigan.  "This  purports  to 
be  an  accurate  and  true  record  of  all  the  land  trans- 


THE  CHAOS  OF  CREATION  85 

actions  in  this  section  from  the  special  grant  to  the 
Midland  Company,  down  to  date.  It  shows  no  inter 
mediate  owners  from  the  Midland  Company  to  the 
present  claimants.  As  a  document  arraigning  careless 
ness  on  the  part  of  land  buyers  it  cannot  be  excelled. 
There  isn't  a  present  owner  that  has  a  legal  leg  to 
stand  on!" 

"There  is  only  one  weak  point  in  your  case,"  said 
the  Judge,  and  his  eyes  gleamed  with  satisfaction,  which 
he  concealed  by  bowing  his  head.  "  It  is  that  since 
these  records  show  no  sale  of  its  property  by  the  Mid 
land  Company,  the  Midland  Company  can  come  for 
ward  and  re-establish  its  title." 

Corrigan  laughed  and  flipped  a  legal-looking  paper 
in  front  of  the  Judge.  The  latter  opened  it  and  read, 
showing  eagerness.  He  laid  it  down  after  reading, 
his  hands  trembling. 

"It  shows  that  the  Midland  Company  —  James 
Marchmont,  president  —  transferred  to  Jefferson  Cor 
rigan,  on  a  date  prior  to  these  other  transactions,  one- 
hundred  thousand  acres  of  land  here  —  the  Midland 
Company's  entire  holdings.  Why,  man,  it  is  forgery !  " 

"No,"  said  Corrigan  quietly.  "James  Marchmont 
is  alive.  He  signed  his  name  right  where  it  is.  He'll 
confirm  it,  too,  for  he  happens  to  be  in  something  of 
the  fix  that  you  are  in.  Therefore,  there  being  no 
records  of  any  sales  on  your  books  —  as  revised,  of 
course  —  "  he  laughed;  "Jeff  Corrigan  is  the  legal  pos 
sessor  of  one-hundred  thousand  acres  of  land  right  in 
the  heart  of  what  is  going  to  be  the  boom  section  of 
the  West  t "  He  chuckled,  lit  a  cigar,  leaned  back 


86  "FIREBRAND"   TREASON 

in  his  chair  and  looked  at  the  Judge.  UA11  you  have 
to  do  now  is  to  enter  that  transaction  on  your  records." 

"  You  don't  expect  the  present  owners  to  yield  their 
titles  without  a  fight,  do  you?"  asked  the  Judge.  He 
spoke  breathlessly. 

Corrigan  grunted.  "Sure;  they'll  fight.  But  they'll 
lose.  I've  got  them.  I've  got  the  power  —  the  courts 
—  the  law,  behind  me.  I've  got  them,  and  I'll  squeeze 
them.  It  means  a  mint  of  money,  man.  It  will  make 
you.  It's  the  biggest  thing  that  any  man  ever  attempted 
to  pull  off  in  this  country!" 

"Yes,  it's  big,"  groaned  the  Judge;  "it's  stupen 
dous!  It's  frightful!  Why,  man,  if  anything  goes 
wrong,  it  would  mean  — "  He  paused  and  shivered. 

Corrigan  smiled  contemptuously.  "Where's  the 
original  record?"  he  asked. 

"  I  destroyed  it,"  said  the  Judge.  He  did  not  look 
at  Corrigan.  "How?"  demanded  the  latter. 

"Burned  it." 

"Good."  Corrigan  rubbed  his  palms  together.  "It's 
too  soon  to  start  anything.  Things  are  booming,  and 
some  of  these  owners  will  be  trying  to  sell.  Hold 
them  off  —  don't  record  anything.  Give  them  any 
excuse  that  comes  to  your  mind.  Have  you  heard  from 
Washington?" 

"The  establishment  of  the  court  here  has  been  con 
firmed." 

"  Quick  work,"  laughed  Corrigan.  He  got  up,  mur 
muring  something  about  having  to  take  care  of  some 
leases.  When  he  turned,  it  was  to  start  and  stand 
rigid,  his  jaws  set,  his  face  pale.  A  man  stood  in  the 


THE  CHAOS  OF  CREATION  87 

open  doorway  —  a  man  of  about  fifty  apparently,  fur 
tive-eyed,  slightly  shabby,  though  with  an  atmosphere 
about  him  that  hinted  of  past  dignity  of  carriage. 

"Jim  Marchmont! "  said  Corrigan.  He  stepped 
forward,  threateningly,  his  face  dark  with  wrath.  With 
out  speaking  another  word  he  seized  the  newcomer 
by  the  coat  collar,  snapping  his  head  back  savagely, 
and  dragged  him  back  of  a  wooden  partition.  Con 
cealed  there  from  any  of  the  curious  in  the  street,  he 
jammed  Marchmont  against  the  wall  of  the  building, 
held  him  there  with  one  hand  and  stuck  a  huge  fist  into 
his  face. 

"What  in  hell  are  you  doing  here?"  he  demanded. 
"Come  clean,  or  I'll  tear  you  apart !" 

The  other  laughed,  but  there  was  no  mirth  in  it, 
and  his  thin  lips  were  curved  queerly,  and  were  stiff 
and  white.  "Don't  get  excited,  Jeff,"  he  said;  "it 
won't  be  healthy."  And  Corrigan  felt  something  hard 
and  cold  against  his  shirt  front.  He  knew  it  was  a 
pistol  and  he  released  his  hold  and  stepped  back. 

"Speaking  of  coming  clean,"  said  Marchmont. 
"You  crossed  me.  You  told  me  you  were  going  to 
sell  the  Midland  land  to  two  big  ranch-owners.  I  find 
that  you're  going  to  cut  it  up  into  lots  and  make  big 
money  —  loads  of  it.  You  handed  me  a  measly  thou 
sand.  You  stand  to  make  millions.  I  want  my  divvy." 

" YouVe  got  your  nerve,"  scoffed  Corrigan.  "You 
got  your  bit  when  you  sold  the  Midland  before.  You're 
a  self-convicted  crook,  and  if  you  make  a  peep  out 
here  I'll  send  you  over  the  road  for  a  thousand  years !  " 

"Another  thousand  now,"  said  Marchmont;  "and 


88 "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

ten  more  when  you  commence  to  cash  in.  Otherwise, 
a  thousand  years  or  not,  I'll  start  yapping  here  and 
queer  your  game." 

Corrigan's  lips  were  in  an  ugly  pout.  For  an  instant 
it  seemed  he  was  going  to  defy  his  visitor.  Then  with 
out  a  word  to  him  he  stepped  around  the  partition, 
walked  out  the  door  and  entered  the  bank.  A  few 
minutes  later  he  passed  a  bundle  of  greenbacks  to 
Marchmont  and  escorted  him  to  the  front  door,  where 
he  stood,  watching,  his  face  unpleasant,  until  March 
mont  vanished  into  one  of  the  saloons. 

"That  settles  you,  you  damned  fool! "  he  said. 

He  stepped  down  into  the  street  and  went  into  the 
bank.  Braman  fawned  on  him,  smirking  insincerely. 
Corrigan  had  not  apologized  for  striking  the  blow, 
had  never  mentioned  it,  continuing  his  former  attitude 
toward  the  banker  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 
But  Braman  had  not  forgiven  him.  Corrigan  wasted 
no  words: 

"Who's  the  best  gun-man  in  this  section?" 

Braman  studied  a  minute.  "  Clay  Levins,"  he  said, 
finally. 

"Can  you  find  him?" 

"Why,  he's  in  town  today;  I  saw  him  not  more  than 
fifteen  minutes  ago,  going  into  the  Elk ! " 

"Find  him  and  bring  him  here  —  by  the  back  way," 
directed  Corrigan. 

Braman  went  out,  wondering.  A  few  minutes  later 
he  returned,  coming  in  at  the  front  door,  smiling  with 
triumph.  Shortly  afterward  Corrigan  was  opening  the 
rear  door  on  a  tall,  slender  man  of  thirty-five,  with  a 


THE  CHAOS  OF  CREATION  89 

thin  face,  a  mouth  that  drooped  at  the  corners,  and 
alert,  furtive  eyes.  He  wore  a  heavy  pistol  at  his 
right  hip,  low,  the  bottom  of  the  holster  tied  to  the 
leather  chaps,  and  as  Corrigan  closed  the  door  he 
noted  that  the  man's  right  hand  lingered  close  to  the 
butt  of  the  weapon. 

" That's  all  right,"  said  Corrigan;  "you're  perfectly 
safe  here." 

He  talked  in  low  tones  to  the  man,  so  that  Braman 
could  not  hear.  Levins  departed  shortly  afterwards, 
grinning  crookedly,  tucking  a  piece  of  paper  into  a 
pocket,  upon  which  Corrigan  had  transcribed  something 
that  had  been  written  on  the  cuff  of  his  shirt  sleeve. 
Corrigan  went  to  his  desk  and  busied  himself  with  some 
papers.  Over  in  the  courthouse,  Judge  Lindman  took 
from  a  drawer  in  his  desk  a  thin  ledger  —  a  duplicate 
of  the  one  he  had  shown  Corrigan  —  and  going  to  the 
rear  of  the  room  opened  the  door  of  an  iron  safe  and 
stuck  the  ledger  out  of  sight  under  a  mass  of  legal 
papers. 

When  Marchmont  left  Corrigan  he  went  straight  to 
the  Plaza,  where  he  ordered  a  lunch  and  ate  heartily. 
After  finishing  his  meal  he  emerged  from  the  saloon 
and  stood  near  one  of  the  front  windows.  One  of  the 
hundred  dollar  bills  that  Corrigan  had  given  him  he 
had  "  broke  "  in  the  Plaza,  getting  bills  of  small  denom 
ination  in  change,  and  in  his  right  trousers'  pocket  was 
a  roll  that  bulked  comfortably  in  his  hand.  The  feel 
of  it  made  him  tingle  with  satisfaction,  as,  except  for 
the  other  thousand  that  Corrigan  had  given  him  some 


90 "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

months  ago,  it  was  the  only  money  he  had  had  for  a 
long  time.  He  knew  he  should  take  the  next  train  out 
of  Manti;  that  he  had  done  a  hazardous  thing  in  bait 
ing  Corrigan,  but  he  was  lonesome  and  yearned  for 
the  touch  and  voice  of  the  crowds  that  thronged  in 
and  out  of  the  saloons  and  the  stores,  and  presently  he 
joined  them,  wandering  from  saloon  to  saloon,  drink 
ing  occasionally,  his  content  and  satisfaction  increasing 
in  proportion  to  the  quantity  of  liquor  he  drank. 

And  then,  at  about  three  o'clock,  in  the  barroom  of 
the  Plaza,  he  heard  a  discordant  voice  at  his  elbow. 
He  saw  men  crowding,  jostling  one  another  to  get 
away  from  the  spot  where  he  stood — crouching,  pale 
of  face,  their  eyes  on  him.  It  made  him  feel  that  he 
was  the  center  of  interest,  and  he  wheeled,  staggering 
a  little  —  for  he  had  drunk  much  more  than  he  had 
intended  —  to  see  what  had  happened.  He  saw  Clay 
Levins  standing  close  to  him,  his  thin  lips  in  a  cruel 
curve,  his  eyes  narrowed  and  glittering,  his  body  in  a 
suggestive  crouch.  The  silence  that  had  suddenly 
descended  smote  Marchmont's  ears  like  a  momentary 
deafness,  and  he  looked  foolishly  around  him,  uncer 
tain,  puzzled.  Levins'  voice  shocked  him,  sobered  him, 
whitened  his  face : 

"  Fork  over  that  coin  you  lifted  from  me  in  the  Elk, 
you  light-fingered  hound!"  said  Levins. 

Marchmont  divined  the  truth  now.  He  made  his 
second  mistake  of  the  day.  He  allowed  a  flash  of  rage 
to  trick  him  into  reaching  for  his  pistol.  He  got  it 
into  his  hand  and  almost  out  of  the  pocket  before 
Levins'  first  bullet  struck  him,  and  before  he  could 


THE  CHAOS  OF  CREATION  91 

draw  it  entirely  out  the  second  savage  bark  of  the  gun 
in  Levins'  hand  shattered  the  stillness  of  the  room. 
Soundlessly,  his  face  wreathed  in  a  grin  of  hideous 
satire,  Marchmont  sank  to  the  floor  and  stretched 
out  on  his  back. 

Before  his  body  was  still,  Levins  had  drawn  out  the 
bills  that  had  reposed  in  his  victim's  pocket.  Crumpling 
them  in  his  hand  he  walked  to  the  bar  and  tossed  them 
to  the  barkeeper. 

"Look  at  'em,"  he  directed.  "I'm  provin'  they're 
mine.  Good  thing  I  got  the  numbers  on  'em."  While 
the  crowd  jostled  and  crushed  about  him  he  read  the 
numbers  from  the  paper  Corrigan  had  given  him,  grin 
ning  coldly  as  the  barkeeper  confirmed  them.  A  deputy 
sheriff  elbowed  his  way  through  the  press  to  Levins' 
side,  and  the  gun-man  spoke  to  him,  lightly:  "  I  reckon 
everybody  saw  him  reach  for  his  gun  when  I  told  him 
to  fork  the  coin  over,"  he  said,  indicating  his  victim. 
"  So  you  ain't  got  nothin'  on  me.  But  if  you're  figgerin' 
that  the  coin  ain't  mine,  why  I  reckon  a  guy  named 
Corrigan  will  back  up  my  play." 

The  deputy  took  him  at  his  word.  They  found  Cor 
rigan  at  his  desk  in  the  bank  building. 

"  Sure,"  he  said  when  the  deputy  had  told  his  story; 
"  I  paid  Levins  the  money  this  morning.  Is  it  neces 
sary  for  you  to  know  what  for?  No?  Well,  it  seems 
that  the  pickpocket  got  just  what  he  deserved."  He 
offered  the  deputy  a  cigar,  and  the  latter  went  out, 
satisfied. 

Later,  Corrigan  looked  appraisingly  at  Levins,  who 
still  graced  the  office. 


92 "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

"That  was  rather  an  easy  job,"  he  said.  "  March- 
mont  was  slow  with  a  gun.  With  a  faster  man  —  a 
man,  say — "  he  appeared  to  meditate  "  —  like  Trev- 
ison,  for  instance.  You'd  have  to  be  pretty  careful  —  " 

"Trevison's  my  friend,"  grinned  Levins  coldly  as 
he  got  to  his  feet.  "There's  nothin'  doin'  there  — 
understand?  Get  it  out  of  your  brain-box,  for  if  any 
thing  happens  to  '  Firebrand,'  I'll  perforate  you  sure 
as  hell!" 

He  stalked  out  of  the  office,  leaving  Corrigan  look 
ing  after  him,  frowningly. 


CHAPTER  IX 

STRAIGHT  TALK 

TEN  years  of  lonesomeness,  of  separation  from  all 
the  things  he  held  dear,  with  nothing  for  his  soul 
to  feed  upon  except  the  bitterness  he  got  from  a  con 
templation  of  the  past;  with  nothing  but  his  pride  and 
his  determination  to  keep  him  from  becoming  what  he 
had  seen  many  men  in  this  country  become  —  dissolute 
irresponsibles,  drifting  like  ships  without  rudders  — 
had  brought  into  Trevison's  heart  a  great  longing.  He 
was  like  a  man  who  for  a  long  time  has  been  deprived 
of  the  solace  of  good  tobacco,  and — to  use  a  simile 
that  he  himself  manufactured  —  he  yearned  to  capture 
someone  from  the  East,  sit  beside  him  and  fill  his  lungs, 
his  brain,  his  heart,  his  soul,  with  the  breath,  the  aroma, 
the  spirit  of  the  land  of  his  youth.  The  appearance  of 
Miss  Benham  at  Manti  had  thrilled  him.  For  ten  years 
he  had  seen  no  eastern  woman,  and  at  sight  of  her 
the  old  hunger  of  the  soul  became  acute  in  him,  aroused 
in  him  a  passionate  worship  that  made  his  blood  run 
riot.  It  was  the  call  of  sex  to  sex,  made  doubly  stir 
ring  by  the  girl's  beauty,  her  breeziness,  her  virile, 
alluring  womanhood  —  by  the  appeal  she  made  to  the 
love  of  the  good  and  the  true  in  his  character.  His 
affection  for  Hester  Keyes,  he  had  long  known,  had 


94.  "FIREBRAND"   TREFI&ON 

been  merely  the  vanity-tickling  regard  of  the  callow 
youth  —  the  sex  attraction  of  adolescence,  the  "  puppy  " 
love  that  smites  all  youth  alike.  For  Rosalind  Benham  a 
deeper  note  had  been  struck.  Its  force  rocked  him, 
intoxicated  him;  his  head  rang  with  the  music  it  made. 

During  the  three  weeks  of  her  stay  at  Blakeley's 
they  had  been  much  together.  Rosalind  had  accepted 
his  companionship  as  a  matter  of  course.  He  had  told 
her  many  things  about  his  past,  and  was  telling  her 
many  more  things,  as  they  sat  today  on  an  isolated 
excrescence  of  sand  and  rock  and  bunch  grass  sur 
rounded  by  a  sea  of  sage.  From  where  they  sat  they 
could  see  Manti  —  Manti,  alive,  athrob,  its  newly-come 
hundreds  busy  as  ants  with  their  different  pursuits. 

The  intoxication  of  the  girl's  presence  had  never 
been  so  great  as  it  was  today.  A  dozen  times,  drunken 
with  the  nearness  of  her,  with  the  delicate  odor  from 
her  hair,  as  a  stray  wisp  fluttered  into  his  face,  he  had 
come  very  near  to  catching  her  in  his  arms.  But  he 
had  grimly  mastered  the  feeling,  telling  himself  that 
he  was  not  a  savage,  and  that  such  an  action  would  be 
suicidal  to  his  hopes.  It  cost  him  an  effort,  though,  to 
restrain  himself,  as  his  flushed  face,  his  burning  eyes 
and  his  labored  breath,  told. 

His  broken  wrist  had  healed.  His  hatred  of  Cor- 
rigan  had  been  kept  alive  by  a  recollection  of  the  fight, 
by  a  memory  of  the  big  man's  quickness  to  take  advan 
tage  of  the  banker's  foul  trick,  and  by  the  passion  for 
revenge  that  had  seized  him,  that  held  him  in  a  burn 
ing  clutch.  Jealousy  of  the  big  man  he  would  not  have 
admitted;  but  something  swelled  his  chest  when  he 


STRAIGHT  TALK 95_ 

thought  of  Corrigan  coming  West  in  the  same  car  with 
the  girl  —  a  vague,  gnawing  something  that  made  his 
teeth  clench  and  his  facial  muscles  cord. 

Rosalind  had  not  told  him  that  she  had  recognized 
him,  that  during  the  ten  years  of  his  exile  he  had  been 
her  ideal,  but  she  could  close  her  eyes  at  this  minute 
and  imagine  herself  on  the  stair-landing  at  Hester 
Keyes'  party,  could  feel  the  identical  wave  of  thrilling 
admiration  that  had  passed  over  her  when  her  gaze 
had  first  rested  on  him.  Yes,  it  had  survived,  that  girl 
hood  passion,  but  she  had  grown  much  older  and  expe 
rienced,  and  she  could  not  let  him  see  what  she  felt. 
But  her  curiosity  was  keener  than  ever;  in  no  other 
man  of  her  acquaintance  had  she  felt  this  intense 
interest. 

"  I  remember  you  telling  me  the  other  day  that  your 
men  would  have  used  their  rifles,  had  the  railroad  com 
pany  attempted  to  set  men  to  work  in  the  cut.  I  pre 
sume  you  must  have  given  them  orders  to  shoot.  I 
can't  understand  you.  You  were  raised  in  the  East, 
your  parents  are  wealthy;  it  is  presumed  they  gave  you 
advantages  —  in  fact,  you  told  me  they  had  sent  you 
to  college.  You  must  have  learned  respect  for  the  law 
while  there.  And  yet  you  would  have  had  your  men 
resist  forcibly." 

"I  told  you  before  that  I  respected  the  law  —  so 
long  as  the /law  is  just  and  the  fellow  I'm  fighting  is 
governed  by  it.  But  I  refuse  to  fight  under  a  rule 
that  binds  one  of  my  hands,  while  my  opponent  sails 
into  me  with  both  hands  free.  I've  never  been  a  believer 
in  the  doctrine  of  *  turn  the  other  cheek.'  We  are  made 


96  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

with  a  capacity  for  feeling,  and  it  boils,  unrestrained, 
in  me.  I  never  could  play  the  hypocrite;  I  couldn't 
say  'no'  when  I  thought  'yes'  and  make  anybody  be 
lieve  it.  I  couldn't  lie  and  evade  and  side-step,  even  to 
keep  from  getting  licked.  I  always  told  the  truth  and 
expressed  my  feelings  in  language  as  straight,  simple, 
and  direct  as  I  could.  It  wasn't  always  the  discreet 
way.  Perhaps  it  wasn't  always  the  wise  way.  I  won't 
argue  that.  But  it  was  the  only  way  I  knew.  It  caused 
me  a  lot  of  trouble — I  was  always  in  trouble.  My 
record  in  college  would  make  a  prize  fighter  turn  green 
with  envy.  I'm  not  proud  of  what  I've  made  of  my 
lifeo  But  I  haven't  changed.  I  do  what  my  heart 
prompts  me  to  do,  and  I  say  what  I  think,  regardless 
of  consequences." 

"That  would  be  a  very  good  method  —  if  everybody 
followed  it,"  said  the  girl.  "  Unfortunately,  it  invites 
enmity.  Subtlety  will  take  you  farther  in  the  world." 
She  was  smitten  with  an  impulse,  unwise,  unconven 
tional.  But  the  conventions!  The  East  seemed  effete 
and  far.  Besides,  she  spoke  lightly: 

"Let  us  be  perfectly  frank,  then.  I  think  that  per 
haps  you  take  yourself  too  seriously.  Life  is  a  tragedy 
to  the  tragic,  a  joke  to  the  humorous,  a  drab  canvas 
to  the  unimaginative.  It  all  depends  upon  what  tem 
perament  one  sees  it  through.  I  dare  say  that  I  see 
you  differently  than  you  see  yourself.  'O  wad  some 
power  the  giftie  gi'e  us  to  see  oursel's  as  ithers  see  us\" 
she  quoted,  and  laughed  at  the  queer  look  in  his  eyes, 
for  his  admiration  for  her  had  leaped  like  a  living 
thing  at  her  bubbling  spirits,  and  he  was,  figuratively, 


'You  are  going  to 


marry  me — some  day. 
I  think  of  vou!" 


That's  what 


STRAIGHT  TALK 97 

forced  to  place  his  heel  upon  it.  "  I  confess  it  seems 
to  me  that  you  take  a  too  tragic  view  of  things,"  she 
went  on.  "  You  are  like  D'Artagnan,  always  eager  to 
fly  at  somebody's  throat.  Possibly,  you  don't  give  other 
people  credit  for  unselfish  motives;  you  are  too  sus 
picious  ;  and  what  you  call  plain  talk  may  seem  imper 
tinence  to  others  —  don't  you  think?  In  any  event, 
people  don't  like  to  hear  the  truth  told  about  themselves 
—  especially  by  a  big,  earnest,  sober-faced  man  who 
seems  to  speak  with  conviction,  and,  perhaps,  author 
ity.  I  think  you  look  for  trouble,  instead  of  trying  to 
evade  it.  I  think,  too,"  she  said,  looking  straight  at 
him,  "  that  you  face  the  world  in  a  too  physical  fashion ; 
that  you  place  too  much  dependence  upon  brawn  and 
fire.  That,  following  your  own  method  of  speaking 
your  mind,  is  what  I  think  of  you.  I  tremble  to  imagine 
what  you  think  of  me  for  speaking  so  plainly." 

He  laughed,  his  voice  vibrating,  and  bold  passion 
gleamed  in  his  eyes.  He  looked  fairly  at  her,  holding 
her  gaze,  compelling  it  with  the  intensity  of  his  own, 
and  she  drew  a  deep,  tremulous  breath  of  understand 
ing.  There  followed  a  tense,  breathless  silence.  And 
then  — 

"You've  brought  it  on  yourself,"  he  said.  "I  love 
you.  You  are  going  to  marry  me  —  some  day.  That's 
what  I  think  of  you  I " 

She  got  to  her  feet,  her  cheeks  flaming,  confused, 
half-frightened,  though  a  fierce  exultation  surged  with 
in  her.  She  had  half  expected  this,  half  dreaded  it,  and 
now  that  it  had  burst  upon  her  in  such  volcanic  fashion 
she  realized  that  she  had  not  been  entirely  prepared. 


98 " FIREBRAND  "   TREFISON 

She  sought  refuge  in  banter,  facing  him,  her  cheeks 
flushed,  her  eyes  dancing. 

"  *  Firebrand,'  "  she  said.  "The  name  fits  you  —  Mr. 
Carson  was  right.  I  warned  you  —  if  you  remember 
—  that  you  placed  too  much  dependence  on  brawn  and 
fire.  You  are  making  it  very  hard  for  me  to  see  you 
again." 

He  had  risen  too,  and  stood  before  her,  and  he  now 
laughed  frankly. 

"I  told  you  I  couldn't  play  the  hypocrite.  I  have 
said  what  I  think.  I  want  you.  But  that  doesn't  mean 
that  I  am  going  to  carry  you  away  to  the  mountains. 
I've  got  it  off  my  mind,  and  I  promise  not  to  mention 
it  again  —  until  you  wish  it.  But  don't  forget  that  some 
day  you  are  going  to  love  me." 

"How  marvelous,"  said  she,  tauntingly,  though  in 
her  confusion  she  could  not  meet  his  gaze,  looking 
downward.  "  How  do  you  purpose  to  bring  it  about  ?  " 

"  By  loving  you  so  strongly  that  you  can't  help  your 
self." 

"With  your  confidence  —  "  she  began.  But  he  inter 
rupted,  laughing: 

"We're  going  to  forget  it,  now,"  he  said.  "I 
promised  to  show  you  that  Pueblo,  and  we'll  have  just 
about  time  enough  to  make  it  and  back  to  the  Bar  B 
before  dark." 

And  they  rode  away  presently,  chatting  on  indif 
ferent  subjects.  And,  keeping  his  promise,  he  said  not 
another  word  about  his  declaration.  But  the  girl,  steal 
ing  glances  at  him,  wondered  much  —  and  reached  no 
decision. 


STRAIGHT  TALK 99 

When  they  reached  the  abandoned  Indian  village, 
many  of  its  houses  still  standing,  he  laughed.  "That 
would  make  a  dandy  fort." 

"Always  thinking  of  fighting,"  she  mocked.  But 
her  eyes  flashed  as  she  looked  at  him. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  MANTI 

THE  Benham  private  car  had  clacked  eastward 
over  the  rails  three  weeks  before,  bearing  with  it 
as  a  passenger  only  the  negro  autocrat.  At  the  last  mo 
ment,  discovering  that  she  could  not  dissuade  Rosalind 
from  her  mad  decision  to  stay  at  Blakeley's  ranch, 
Agatha  had  accompanied  her.  The  private  car  was  now 
returning,  bearing  the  man  who  had  poetically  declared 
to  his  fawning  Board  of  Directors:  "Our  railroad  is 
the  magic  wand  that  will  make  the  desert  bloom  like  the 
rose.  We  are  embarked  upon  a  project,  gentlemen,  so 
big,  so  vast,  that  it  makes  even  your  president  feel  a 
pulse  of  pride.  This  project  is  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  the  opening  of  a  region  of  waste  country  which 
an  all-wise  Creator  has  permitted  to  slumber  for  ages, 
for  no  less  purpose  than  to  reserve  it  to  the  horny- 
handed  son  of  toil  of  our  glorious  country.  It  will 
awaken  to  the  clarion  call  of  our  wealth,  our  brains, 
and  our  genius."  He  then  mentioned  Corrigan  and 
the  Midland  grant  —  another  reservation  of  Provi 
dence,  which  a  credulous  and  asinine  Congress  had 
bestowed,  in  fee-simple,  upon  a  certain  sauve  gentleman, 
named  Marchmont  —  and  disseminated  such  other 
details  as  a  servile  board  of  directors  need  know;  and 


100 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  M^r?        Vuoi 


then  he  concluded  with  a  flowery  peroration  that  left 
his  hearers  smirking  fatuously. 

And  today  J.  Chalfant  Benham  was  come  to  look 
upon  the  first  fruits  of  his  efforts. 

As  he  stepped  down  from  the  private  car  he  was 
greeted  by  vociferous  cheers  from  a  jostling  and  enthu 
siastic  populace  —  for  J.  C.  had  very  carefully  wired 
the  time  of  his  arrival  and  Corrigan  had  acted  accord 
ingly,  knowing  J.  C.  well.  J.  C.  was  charmed — he 
said  so,  later,  in  a  speech  from  a  flimsy,  temporary 
stand  erected  in  the  middle  of  the  street  in  front  of  the 
Plaza  —  and  in  saying  so  he  merely  told  the  truth.  For, 
next  to  money-making,  adulation  pleased  him  most.  He 
would  have  been  an  able  man  had  he  ignored  the  lat 
ter  passion.  It  seared  his  intellect  as  a  pernicious  habit 
blasts  the  character.  It  sat  on  his  shoulders  —  extrav 
agantly  squared;  it  shone  in  his  eyes  —  inviting  inspec 
tion;  his  lips,  curved  with  smug  complacence,  betrayed 
it  as,  sitting  in  Corrigan's  office  after  the  conclusion 
of  the  festivities,  he  smiled  at  the  big  man. 

"  Manti  is  a  wonderful  town  —  a  wonderful  town!  " 
he  declared.  "  It  may  be  said  that  success  is  lurking 
just  ahead.  And  much  of  the  credit  is  due  to  your 
efforts,"  he  added,  generously. 

Corrigan  murmured  a  polite  disclaimer,  and  plunged 
into  dry  details.  J.  C.  had  a  passion  for  dry  details. 
For  many  hours  they  sat  in  the  office,  their  heads  close 
together.  Braman  was  occasionally  called  in.  Judge 
Lindman  was  summoned  after  a  time.  J.  C.  shook  the 
Judge's  hand  warmly  and  then  resumed  his  chair,  fold 
ing  his  chubby  hands  over  his  corpulent  stomach. 


102  "FIREBRAND"   TREVISON 

\ 

"Judge  Lindman,"  he  said;  "you  thoroughly  under 
stand  our  position  in  this  Midland  affair." 

The  Judge  glanced  at  Corrigan.     "Thoroughly." 

"No  doubt  there  will  be  some  contests.  But  the 
present  claimants  have  no  legal  status.  Mr. —  (here 
J.  C.  mentioned  a  name  that  made  the  Judge's  eyes 
brighten)  tells  me  there  will  be  no  hitch.  There  could 
not  be,  of  course.  In  the  absence  of  any  court  record 
of  possible  transfers,  the  title  to  the  land,  of  course, 
reverts  to  the  Midland  Company.  As  Mr.  Corrigan 
has  explained  to  me,  he  is  entirely  within  his  rights,  hav 
ing  secured  the  title  to  the  land  from  Mr.  Marchmont, 
representing  the  Midland.  You  have  no  record  of  any 
transfers  from  the  Midland  to  the  present  claimants 
or  their  predecessors,  have  you?  There  is  no  such 
record?" 

The  Judge  saw  Corrigan's  amused  grin,  and  sur 
mised  that  J.  C.  was  merely  playing  with  him. 

"No,"  he  said,  with  some  bitterness. 

"Then  of  course  you  are  going  to  stand  with  Mr. 
Corrigan  against  the  present  claimants?  " 

"I  presume  so." 

"H'm,"  said  J.  C.  "If  there  is  any  doubt  about  it, 
perhaps  I  had  better  remind  you  —  " 

The  Judge  groaned  in  agony  of  spirit.  "  It  won't 
be  necessary  to  remind  me." 

"So  I  thought.  Well,  gentlemen  — "  J.  C.  arose 
"  —  that  will  be  all  for  this  evening." 

Thus  he  dismissed  the  Judge,  who  went  to  his  cot 
behind  a  partition  in  the  courthouse,  while  Corrigan 
and  J.  C.  stepped  outside  and  walked  slowly  toward 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  MANTI  103 

the  private  car.  They  lingered  at  the  steps,  and  pres 
ently  J.  C.  called  and  a  negro  came  out  with  two  chairs. 
J.  C.  and  Corrigan  draped  themselves  in  the  chairs 
and  smoked.  Dusk  was  settling  over  Manti ;  lights 
appeared  in  the  windows  of  the  buildings;  a  medley  of 
noises  reached  the  ears  of  the  two  men.  By  day  Manti 
was  lively  enough,  by  night  it  was  a  maelstrom  of 
frenzied  action.  A  hundred  cow-ponies  were  hitched 
to  rails  that  skirted  the  street  in  front  of  store  and 
saloon;  cowboys  from  ranches,  distant  and  near,  rol 
licked  from  building  to  building,  touching  elbows  with 
men  less  picturesquely  garbed;  the  strains  of  crude 
music  smote  the  flat,  dead  desert  air;  yells,  shouts, 
laughter  filtered  through  the  bedlam;  an  engine,  at 
tached  to  a  train  of  cars  on  the  main  track  near  the 
private  car,  wheezed  steam  in  preparation  for  its  east 
ward  trip,  soon  to  begin. 

Benham  had  solemn  thoughts,  sitting  there,  watching. 

"That  crowd  wouldn't  have  much  respect  for  law. 
They're  living  at  such  a  pitch  that  they'd  lose  their 
senses  entirely  if  any  sudden  crisis  should  arise.  I'd 
feel  my  way  carefully,  Corrigan  —  if  I  were  you." 

Corrigan  laughed  deeply.  "  Don't  lose  any  sleep  over 
it.  There  are  fifty  deputy  marshals  in  that  crowd — 
and  they're  heeled.  The  rear  room  in  the  bank  build 
ing  is  a  young  arsenal." 

Benham  started.    "  How  on  earth  —  "he  began. 

"Law  and  order,"  smiled  Corrigan.  "A  telegram 
did  it.  The  territory  wants  a  reputation  for  safety." 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Benham,  after  a  silence;  "  I  had 
to  take  that  Trevison  affair  out  of  your  hands.  We 


104  "FIREBRAND"   TREVISON 

don't  want  to  antagonize  the  man.  He  will  be  valuable 
to  us  —  later." 

"How?" 

"  Carrington,  the  engineer  I  sent  out  here  to  look 
over  the  country  before  we  started  work,  did  consider 
able  nosing  around  Trevison' s  land  while  in  the  vicinity. 
He  told  me  there  were  unmistakable  signs  of  coal  of  a 
good  quality  and  enormous  quantity.  We  ought  to  be 
able  to  drive  a  good  bargain  with  Trevison  one  of 
these  days  —  if  we  handle  him  carefully." 

Corrigan  frowned  and  grunted.  "His  land  is  in 
cluded  in  that  of  the  Midland  grant.  He  shall  be 
treated  like  the  others.  If  that  is  your  only  objec 


tion—" 


"It  isn't,"  said  Benham.  "I  have  discovered  that 
'Brand'  Trevison  is  really  Trevison  Brandon,  the  dis 
graced  son  of  Orrin  Brandon,  the  millionaire." 

The  darkness  hid  Corrigan's  ugly  pout.  "How  did 
you  discover  that?"  he  said,  coolly,  after  a  little. 

"  My  daughter  mentioned  it  in  one  of  her  letters  to 
me.  I  confirmed,  by  quizzing  Brandon,  senior.  Bran 
don  is  powerful  and  obstinate.  If  he  should  discover 
what  our  game  is  he  would  fight  us  to  the  last  ditch. 
The  whole  thing  would  go  to  smash,  perhaps." 

"You  didn't  tell  him  about  his  son  being  out  here?" 

"  Certainly  not!" 

"Good!" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"That  it's  my  land;  that  I'm  going  to  take  it  away 
from  Trevison,  father  or  no  father.  I'm  going  to 
break  him.  That's  what  I  mean!"  Corrigan's  big 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  MANTI 105 

hands  were  clenched  on  the  arms  of  his  chair;  his  eyes 
gleamed  balefully  in  the  semi-darkness.  J.  C.  felt  a 
tremor  of  awed  admiration  for  him.  He  laughed,  ner 
vously.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  if  you  think  you  can  handle 
it  —  " 

They  sat  there  for  a  long  time,  smoking  in  silence. 
One  thought  dominated  Corrigan's  mind:  "Three 
weeks,  and  exchanging  confidences  —  damn  him!" 

A  discordant  note  floated  out  of  the  medley  of  sound 
in  palpitating  Manti,  sailed  over  the  ridiculous  sky  line 
and  smote  the  ears  of  the  two  on  the  platform.  The 
air  rocked  an  instant  later  with  a  cheer,  loud,  preg 
nant  with  enthusiasm.  And  then  a  mass  of  men,  close- 
packed,  undulating,  moved  down  the  street  toward  the 
private  car. 

Benham's  face  whitened  and  he  rose  from  his  chair. 
"  Good  God  I  "  he  said ;  "  what's  happened  ?  "  He  felt 
Corrigan's  hand  on  his  shoulder,  forcing  him  back  into 
his  chair. 

"  It  can't  concern  us,"  said  the  big  man ;  "  wait ;  we'll 
know  pretty  soon.  Something's  broke  loose." 

The  two  men  watched  —  Benham  breathless,  wide- 
eyed;  Corrigan  with  close-set  lips  and  out-thrust  chin. 
The  mass  moved  fast.  It  passed  the  Plaza,  far  up  the 
street,  receiving  additions  each  second  as  men  burst 
out  of  doors  and  dove  to  the  fringe;  and  grew  in 
front  as  other  men  skittered  into  it,  hanging  to  its  edge 
and  adding  to  the  confusion.  But  Corrigan  noted  that 
the  mass  had  a  point,  like  a  wedge,  made  by  three  men 
who  seemed  to  lead  it.  Something  familiar  in  the  stat- 


io6  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

ure  and  carriage  of  one  of  the  men  struck  Corrigan, 
and  he  strained  his  eyes  into  the  darkness  the  better 
to  see.  He  could  be  sure  of  the  identity  of  the  man, 
presently,  and  he  set  his  jaws  tighter  and  continued 
to  watch,  with  bitter  malignance  in  his  gaze,  for  the 
man  was  Trevison.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  broad 
shoulders,  the  set  of  the  head,  the  big,  bold  and  con 
fident  poise  of  the  man.  At  the  point  of  the  wedge  he 
looked  what  he  was  —  the  leader;  he  dominated  the 
crowd;  it  became  plain  to  Corrigan  as  the  mass  moved 
closer  that  he  was  intent  on  something  that  had  aroused 
the  enthusiasm  of  his  followers,  for  there  were  shouts 
of :  "  That's  the  stuff !  Give  it  to  them !  Run  'em  out !  " 

For  an  instant  as  the  crowd  passed  the  Elk  saloon, 
its  lights  revealing  faces  in  its  glare,  Corrigan  thought 
its  destination  was  the  private  car,  and  his  hand  went 
to  his  hip.  It  was  withdrawn  an  instant  later,  though, 
when  the  leader  swerved  and  marched  toward  the  train 
on  the  main  track.  In  the  light  also,  Corrigan  saw 
something  that  gave  him  a  hint  of  the  significance  of  it 
all.  His  laugh  broke  the  tension  of  the  moment. 

"It's  Denver  Ed  and  Poker  Charley,"  he  said  to 
Benham.  "  It's  likely  they've  been  caught  cheating  and 
have  been  invited  to  make  themselves  scarce."  And  he 
laughed  again,  with  slight  contempt,  at  Benham's  sigh 
of  relief. 

The  mass  surged  around  the  rear  coach  of  the  train. 
There  was  some  laughter,  mingled  with  jeers,  and  while 
this  was  at  its  height  a  man  broke  from  the  mass  and 
walked  rapidly  toward  Corrigan  and  Benham.  It  was 
Braman.  Corrigan  questioned  him. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  MANTI  107 

"It's  two  professional  gamblers.  They've  been 
fleecing  Manti's  easy  marks  with  great  facility.  Tonight 
they  had  Clay  Levins  in  the  back  room  of  the  Belmont. 
He  had  about  a  thousand  dollars  (the  banker  looked 
at  Corrigan  and  closed  an  eye),  and  they  took  it  away 
from  him.  It  looked  square,  and  Levins  didn't  kick. 
Couldn't  anyway — he's  lying  in  the  back  room  of  the 
Belmont  now,  paralyzed.  I  think  that  somebody  told 
Levins'  wife  about  him  shooting  Marchmont  yester 
day,  and  Mrs.  Levins  likely  sent  Trevison  after  hubby 
—  knowing  hubby's  appetite  for  booze.  Levins  isn't 
giving  the  woman  a  square  deal,  so  far  as  that  is  con 
cerned,"  went  on  the  banker;  "she  and  the  kids  are  in 
want  half  the  time,  and  I've  heard, that  Trevison's 
helped  them  out  on  quite  a  good  many  occasions.  Any 
way,  Trevison  appeared  in  town  this  afternoon,  look 
ing  for  Levins.  Before  he  found  him  he  heard  these 
two  beauties  framing  up  on  him.  That's  the  result  — 
the  two  beauties  go  out.  The  crowd  was  for  stringing 
them  up,  but  Trevison  wouldn't  have  it." 

"  Marchmont?  "  interrupted  Benham.  "  It  isn't  pos 
sible—" 

"Why  not?"  grinned  Corrigan.  "Yes,  sir,  the  for 
mer  president  of  the  Midland  Company  was  shot  to 
death  yesterday  for  pocket-picking." 

"Lord!"  said  Benham. 

"  So  Levins'  wife  sent  Trevison  for  hubby,"  said 
Corrigan,  quietly.  "  She's  that  thick  with  Trevison,  is 
she?" 

"Get  that  out  of  your  mind,  Jeff,"  returned  the 
banker,  noting  Corrigan's  tone.  "  Everybody  that 


io8  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

knows  of  the  case  will  tell  you  that  everything's  straight 
there." 

"Well,"  Corrigan  laughed,  "I'm  glad  to  hear  it." 

The  train  steamed  away  as  they  talked,  and  the  crowd 
began  to  break  up  and  scatter  toward  the  saloons. 
Before  that  happened,  however,  there  was  a  great  jam 
around  Trevison;  he  was  shaking  hands  right  and  left. 
Voices  shouted  that  he  was  "  all  there !  "  As  he  started 
away  he  was  forced  to  shove  his  way  through  the  press 
around  him. 

Benham  had  been  watching  closely  this  evidence  of 
Trevison's  popularity;  he  linked  it  with  some  words  that 
his  daughter  had  written  to  him  regarding  the  man, 
and  as  a  thought  formed  in  his  mind  he  spoke  it. 

"  I'd  reconsider  about  hooking  up  with  that  man 
Trevison,  Corrigan.  He's  one  of  those  fellows  that 
win  popularity  easily,  and  it  won't  do  you  any  good  to 
antagonize  him." 

"That's  all  right,"  laughed  Corrigan,  coldly. 


CHAPTER  XI 

FOR  THE  "KIDDIES" 

TREVISON  dropped  from  Nigger  at  the  dooryard 
of  Levins'  cabin,  and  looked  with  a  grim  smile  at 
Levins  himself  lying  face  downward  across  the  saddle 
on  his  own  pony.  He  had  carried  Levins  out  of  the 
Belmont  and  had  thrown  him,  as  he  would  have  thrown 
a  sack  of  meal,  across  the  saddle,  where  he  had  lain 
during  the  four-mile  ride,  except  during  two  short  inter 
vals  in  which  Trevison  had  lifted  him  off  and  laid  him 
flat  on  the  ground,  to  rest.  Trevison  had  meditated, 
not  without  a  certain  wry  humor,  upon  the  strength  and 
the  protracted  potency  of  Manti's  whiskey,  for  not  once 
during  his  home-coming  had  Levins  shown  the  slight 
est  sign  of  returning  consciousness.  He  was  as  slack 
as  a  meal  sack  now,  as  Trevison  lifted  him  from  the 
pony's  back  and  let  him  slip  gently  to  the  ground  at  his 
feet.  A  few  minutes  later,  Trevison  was  standing  in 
the  doorway  of  the  cabin,  his  burden  over  his  shoulder, 
the  weak  glare  of  light  from  within  the  cabin  stabbing 
the  blackness  of  the  night  and  revealing  him  to  the 
white-faced  woman  who  had  answered  his  summons. 

Her  astonishment  had  been  of  the  mute,  agonized 
kind;  her  eyes,  hollow,  eloquent  with  unspoken  misery 
and  resignation,  would  have  told  Trevison  that  this 

109 


no  "FIREBRAND"  TREF1SON 

was  not  the  first  time,  had  he  not  known  from  personal 
observation.  She  stood  watching,  gulping,  shame  and 
mortification  bringing  patches  of  color  into  her  cheeks, 
as  Trevison  carried  Levins  into  a  bedroom  and  laid 
him  down,  removing  his  boots.  She  was  standing  near 
the  door  when  Trevison  came  out  of  the  bedroom;  she 
was  facing  the  blackness  of  the  desert  night  —  a  blacker 
future,  unknowingly  —  and  Trevison  halted  on  the 
threshold  of  the  bedroom  door  and  set  his  teeth  in  sym 
pathy.  For  the  woman  deserved  better  treatment.  He 
had  known  her  for  several  years  —  since  the  time  when 
Levins,  working  for  him,  had  brought  her  from  a  ranch 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Divide,  announcing  their  mar 
riage.  It  had  been  a  different  Levins,  then,  as  it  was  a 
different  wife  who  stood  at  the  door  now.  She  had 
faded;  the  inevitable  metamorphosis  wrought  by  neg 
lect,  worry  and  want,  had  left  its  husks  —  a  wan,  tired- 
looking  woman  of  thirty  who  had  only  her  hopes  to 
nourish  her  soul.  There  were  children,  too  —  if  that 
were  any  consolation.  Trevison  saw  them  as  he  glanced 
around  the  cabin.  They  were  in  another  bed;  through 
an  archway  he  could  see  their  chubby  faces.  His  lungs 
filled  and  his  lips  straightened. 

But  he  grinned  presently,  in  an  effort  to  bring  cheer 
into  the  cabin,  reaching  into  a  pocket  and  bringing  out 
the  money  he  had  recovered  for  Levins. 

"There  are  nearly  a  thousand  dollars  here.  Two 
tin-horn  gamblers  tried  to  take  it  from  Clay,  but  I 
headed  them  off.  Tell  Clay— " 

Mrs.  Levins'  face  whitened;  it  was  more  money  than 
she  had  ever  seen  at  one  time. 


FOR  THE  "KIDDIES" ni 

"Clay's?"  she  interrupted,  perplexedly.  "Why, 
where  —  " 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  —  but  he  had  it,  they 
tried  to  take  it  away  from  him  —  it's  here  now  —  it 
belongs  to  you."  He  shoved  it  into  her  hands  and 
stepped  back,  smiling  at  the  stark  wonder  and  joy  in 
her  eyes.  He  saw  the  joy  vanish  —  concern  and  haunt 
ing  worry  came  into  her  eyes. 

"They  told  me  that  Clay  shot  —  killed  —  a  man  yes 
terday.  Is  it  true?"  She  cast  a  fearing  look  at  the 
bed  where  the  children  lay. 

"The  damned  fools!" 

"Then  it's  true!"  She  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  the  money  in  them.  Then  she  took  the  hands 
away  and  looked  at  the  money  in  them,  loathingly.  "  Do 
you  think  Clay — " 

"  No  !  "  he  said  shortly,  anticipating.  "  That  couldn't 
be.  For  the  man  Clay  killed  had  this  money  on  him. 
Clay  accused  him  of  picking  his  pocket.  Clay  gave 
the  bartender  in  the  Plaza  the  number  of  each  bill 
before  he  saw  them  after  taking  the  bills  out  of  the 
pickpocket's  clothing.  So  it  can't  be  as  you  feared." 

She  murmured  incoherently  and  pressed  both  hands 
to  her  breast.  He  laughed  and  walked  to  the  door. 

"Well,  you  need  it,  you  and  the  kiddies.  I'm  glad 
to  have  been  of  some  service  to  you.  Tell  Clay  he 
owes  me  something  for  cartage.  If  there  is  anything 
I  can  do  for  you  and  Clay  and  the  kiddies  I'd  be  only 
too  glad." 

"Nothing  —  now,"  said  the  woman,  gratitude  shin 
ing  from  her  eyes,  mingling  with  a  worried  gleam. 


H2  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

"  Oh  I  "  she  added,  passionately;  "  if  Clay  was  only  dif 
ferent  !  Can't  you  help  him  to  be  strong,  Mr.  Trev- 
ison?  Like  you?  Can't  you  be  with  him  more,  to  try 
to  keep  him  straight  for  the  sake  of  the  children?  " 

"  Clay's  odd,  lately,"  Trevison  frowned.  "  He  seems 
to  have  changed  a  lot.  I'll  do  what  I  can,  of  course." 
He  stepped  out  of  the  door  and  then  looked  back, 
calling:  "  I'll  put  Clay's  pony  away.  Good  night." 
And  the  darkness  closed  around  him. 

Over  at  Blakeley's  ranch,  J.  C.  Benham  had  just 
finished  an  inspection  of  the  interior  and  had  sank  into 
the  depths  of  a  comfortable  chair  facing  his  daugh 
ter.  Blakeley  and  his  wife  had  retired,  the  deal  that 
would  place  the  ranch  in  possession  of  Benham  having 
been  closed.  J.  C.  gazed  critically  at  his  daughter. 

"Like  it  here,  eh?"  he  said.  "Well,  you  look  it." 
He  shook  a  finger  at  her.  "Agatha  has  been  writing 
to  me  rather  often,  lately,"  he  added.  There  followed 
no  answer  and  J.  C.  went  on,  narrowing  his  eyes  at 
the  girl.  "  She  tells  me  that  this  fellow  who  calls  him 
self  '  Brand'  Trevison  has  proven  himself  a  —  shall  we 
say,  persistent?  —  escort  on  your  trips  of  inspection 
around  the  ranch." 

Rosalind's  face  slowly  crimsoned. 

"H'm,"  said  Benham. 

"  I  thought  Corrigan  —  "  he  began.  The  girl's  eyes 
chilled. 

"H'm,"  said  Benham,  again. 


CHAPTER  XII 

EXPOSED  TO  THE  SUNLIGHT 

IT  WAS  a  month  before  Trevison  went  to  town 
again.  Only  once  during  that  time  did  he  see  Rosa 
lind  Benham,  for  the  Blakeleys  had  vacated,  and  goods 
and  servants  had  arrived  from  the  East  and  needed  at 
tention.  Rosalind  presided  at  the  Bar  B  ranchhouse,  un 
der  Agatha's  chaperonage,  and  she  had  invited  Trevi 
son  to  visit  her  whenever  the  mood  struck  him.  He  had 
been  in  the  mood  many  times,  but  had  found  no  oppor 
tunity,  for  the  various  activities  of  range  work  claimed 
his  attention.  After  a  critical  survey  of  Manti  and 
vicinity,  J.  C.  had  climbed  aboard  his  private  car  to 
be  whisked  to  New  York,  where  he  reported  to  his 
Board  of  Directors  that  Manti  would  one  day  be  one 
of  the  greatest  commercial  centers  of  the  West. 

Vague  rumors  of  a  legal  tangle  involving  the  land 
around  Manti  had  reached  Trevison's  ears,  and  this 
morning  he  had  jumped  on  Nigger,  determined  to  run 
the  rumors  down.  He  made  a  wide  swing,  following 
the  river,  which  took  him  miles  from  his  own  property 
and  into  the  enormous  basin  which  one  day  the  engi 
neers  expected  to  convert  into  a  mammoth  lake  from 
which  the  thirst  of  many  dry  acres  of  land  was  to  be 
slaked;  and  halting  Nigger  near  the  mouth  of  the 

"3 


ii4  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

gorge,  watched  the  many  laborers,  directed  by  various 
grades  of  bosses,  at  work  building  the  foundation  of 
the  dam.  Later,  he  crossed  the  basin,  followed  the 
well-beaten  trail  up  the  slope  to  the  level,  and  shortly 
he  was  in  Hanrahan's  saloon  across  the  street  from 
Braman's  bank,  listening  to  the  plaint  of  Jim  Lefing- 
well,  the  Circle  Cross  owner,  whose  ranch  was  east  of 
town.  Lefingwell  was  big,  florid,  and  afflicted  with  per 
turbation  that  was  almost  painful.  So  exercised  was  he 
that  he  was  at  times  almost  incoherent. 

"  She's  boomin',  ain't  she  ?  Meanin'  this  man's  town, 
of  course.  An'  a  man's  got  a  right  to  cash  in  on  a 
boom  whenever  he  gits  the  chance.  Well,  I'd  figgered 
to  cash  in.  I  ain't  no  hawg  an'  I  got  savvy  enough  to 
perceive  without  the  aid  of  any  damn  fortune-teller 
that  cattle  is  done  in  this  country — considered  as  the 
main  question.  I've  got  a  thousand  acres  of  land  — 
which  I  paid  for  in  spot  cash  to  Dick  Kessler  about 
eight  years  ago.  If  Dick  was  here  he'd  back  me  up  in 
that.  But  he  ain't  here  —  the  doggone  fool  went  an' 
died  about  four  years  ago,  leavin'  me  unprotected.  Well, 
now,  not  digressin'  any,  I  gits  the  idea  that  I'm  goin' 
to  unload  consid'able  of  my  thousand  acres  on  the  suf- 
ferin'  fools  that's  yearnin'  to  come  into  this  country  an' 
work  their  heads  off  raisin'  alfalfa  an'  hawgs,  an'  cab 
bages  an'  sons  with  Pick-a-dilly  collars  to  be  eddicated 
East  an'  come  back  home  some  day  an'  lift  the  mort 
gage  from  the  old  homestead  —  which  job  they  always 
falls  down  on  —  findin'  it  more  to  their  likin'  to  mort 
gage  their  souls  to  buy  jew'l'ry  for  fast  wimmin.  Well, 
not  digressin'  any,  I  run  a-foul  of  a  guy  last  week  which 


EXPOSED  TO  THE  SUNLIGHT        115 

was  dead  set  on  investirT  in  ten  acres  of  my  land, 
skirtin'  one  of  the  irrigation  ditches  which  they're  fig- 
gerin'  on  puttin'  in.  The  price  I  wanted  was  a  heap 
satisfyin'  to  the  guy.  But  he  suggests  that  before  he 
forks  over  the  coin  we  go  down  to  the  courthouse  an' 
muss  up  the  records  to  see  if  my  title  is  clear.  Well, 
not  digressin'  any,  she  ain't!  She  ain't  even  nowheres 
clear  a-tall  —  she  ain't  even  there!  She's  wiped  off, 
slick  an'  clean!  There  ain't  a  damned  line  to  show 
that  I  ever  bought  my  land  from  Dick  Kessler,  an'  there 
ain't  nothin'  on  no  record  to  show  that  Dick  Kessler 
ever  owned  it!  What  in  hell  do  you  think  of  that? 

"Now,  not  digressin'  any,"  he  went  on  as  Trevison 
essayed  to  speak;  "that  ain't  the  worst  of  it.  While 
I  was  in  there,  talkin'  to  Judge  Lindman,  this  here  big 
guy  that  you  fit  with  —  Corrigan  —  comes  in.  I  gathers 
from  the  trend  of  his  remarks  that  I  never  had  a  legal 
title  to  my  land  —  that  it  belongs  to  the  guy  which 
bought  it  from  the  Midland  Company  —  which  is  him. 
Now  what  in  hell  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

"  I  knew  Dick  Kessler,"  said  Trevison,  soberly.  "  He 
was  honest." 

"  Square  as  a  dollar!  "  violently  affirmed  Lefingwell. 

"It's  too  bad,"  sympathized  Trevison.  "That 
places  you  in  a  mighty  bad  fix.  If  there's  anything  I 
can  do  for  you,  why  —  " 

"  Mr.  'Brand '  Trevison?  "  said  a  voice  at  Trevison's 
elbow.  Trevison  turned,  to  see  a  short,  heavily  built 
man  smiling  mildly  at  him. 

"  I'm  a  deputy  from  Judge  Lindman's  court,"  an 
nounced  the  man.  "  I've  got  a  summons  for  you.  Saw 


n6  "FIREBRAND"  TREVISON 

you  coming  in  here  —  saves  me  a  trip  to  your  place." 
He  shoved  a  paper  into  Trevison's  hands,  grinned,  and 
went  out.  For  an  instant  Trevison  stood,  looking  after 
the  man,  wondering  how,  since  the  man  was  a  stranger 
to  him,  he  had  recognized  him  —  and  then  he  opened 
the  paper  to  discover  that  he  was  ordered  to  appear 
before  Judge  Lindman  the  following  day  to  show  cause 
why  he  should  not  be  evicted  from  certain  described 
property  held  unlawfully  by  him.  The  name,  Jefferson 
Corrigan,  appeared  as  plaintiff  in  the  action. 

Lefingwell  was  watching  Trevison's  face  closely,  and 
when  he  saw  it  whiten,  he  muttered,  understandingly : 

"  You've  got  it,  too,  eh  ?  " 

'Yes."  Trevison  shoved  the  paper  into  a  pocket. 
"  Looks  like  you're  not  going  to  be  skinned  alone,  Lef 
ingwell.  Well,  so-long;  I'll  see  you  later." 

He  strode  out,  leaving  Lefingwell  slightly  stunned 
over  his  abrupt  leave-taking.  A  minute  later  he  was 
in  the  squatty  frame  courthouse,  towering  above  Judge 
Lindman,  who  had  been  seated  at  his  desk  and  who 
had  risen  at  his  entrance. 

Trevison  shoved  the  summons  under  Lindman's  nose. 

"I  just  got  this,"  he  said.     "What  does  it  mean?" 

"It  is  perfectly  understandable,"  the  Judge  smiled 
with  forced  affability.  "The  plaintiff,  Mr.  Jefferson 
Corrigan,  is  a  claimant  to  the  title  of  the  land  now 
held  by  you." 

"Corrigan  can  have  no  claim  on  my  land;  I  bought 
it  five  years  ago  from  old  Buck  Peters.  He  got  it  from 
a  man  named  Taylor.  Corrigan  is  bluffing." 

The  Judge  coughed  and  dropped  his  gaze  from  the 


EXPOSED  TO  THE  SUNLIGHT        117 

belligerent  eyes  of  the  young  man.  "  That  will  be  de 
termined  in  court,"  he  said.  "The  entire  land  trans 
actions  in  this  county,  covering  a  period  of  twenty-five 
years,  are  recorded  in  that  book."  And  the  Judge  indi 
cated  a  ledger  on  his  desk. 

"I'll  take  a  look  at  it."  Trevison  reached  for  the 
ledger,  seized  it,  the  Judge  protesting,  half-heartedly, 
though  with  the  judicial  dignity  that  had  become  habit 
ual  from  long  service  in  his  profession. 

"  This  is  a  high-handed  proceeding,  young  man.  You 
are  in  contempt  of  court !  "  The  Judge  tried,  but  could 
not  make  his  voice  ring  sincerely.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  this  vigorous,  clear-eyed  young  man  could  see  the 
guilt  that  he  was  trying  to  hide. 

Trevison  laughed  grimly,  holding  the  Judge  off  with 
one  hand  while  he  searched  the  pages  of  the  book, 
leaning  over  the  desk.  He  presently  closed  the  book 
with  a  bang  and  faced  the  Judge,  breathing  heavily, 
his  muscles  rigid,  his  eyes  cold  and  glittering. 

"There's  trickery  here!"  He  took  the  ledger  up 
and  slammed  it  down  on  the  desk  again,  his  voice  vibrat 
ing.  "Judge  Lindman,  this  isn't  a  true  record — it  is 
not  the  original  record !  I  saw  the  original  record  five 
years  ago,  when  I  went  personally  to  Dry  Bottom 
with  Buck  Peters  to  have  my  deed  recorded!  This 
record  is  a  fake  —  it  has  been  substituted  for  the  orig 
inal  !  I  demand  that  you  stay  proceedings  in  this  mat 
ter  until  a  search  can  be  made  for  the  original  record !  " 

"  This  is  the  original  record."  Again  the  Judge  tried 
to  make  his  voice  ring  sincerely,  and  again  he  failed. 
His  one  mistake  had  not  hardened  him  and  judicial  dig- 


n8  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

nity  could  not  help  him  to  conceal  his  guilty  knowledge. 
He  winced  as  he  felt  Trevison's  burning  gaze  on  him, 
and  could  not  meet  the  young  man's  eyes,  boring  like 
metal  points  into  his  consciousness.     Trevison  sprang 
forward  and  seized  him  by  the  shoulders. 
"  By  God  —  you  know  it  isn't  the  original ! " 
The  Judge  succeeded  in  meeting  Trevison's  eyes, 
but  his  age,  his  vacillating  will,  his  guilt,  could  not 
combat  the  overpowering  force  and  virility  of  this  vol 
canic  youth,  and  his  gaze  shifted  and  fell. 

He  heard  Trevison  catch  his  breath  —  shrilling  it 
into  his  lungs  in  one  great  sob  —  and  then  he  stood, 
white  and  shaking,  beside  the  desk,  looking  at  Trev 
ison  as  the  young  man  went  out  of  the  door  —  a  laugh 
on  his  lips,  mirthless,  bitter,  portending  trouble  and 
violence. 

Corrigan  was  sitting  at  his  desk  in  the  bank  building 
when  Trevison  entered  the  front  door.  The  big  man 
seemed  to  have  been  expecting  his  visitor,  for  just 
before  the  latter  appeared  at  the  door  Corrigan  took 
a  pistol  from  a  pocket  and  laid  it  on  the  desk  beside 
him,  placing  a  sheet  of  paper  over  it.  He  swung  slowly 
around  and  faced  Trevison,  cold  interest  in  his  gaze. 
He  nodded  shortly  as  Trevison's  eyes  met  his. 

In  a  dozen  long  strides  Trevison  was  at  his  side. 
The  young  man  was  pale,  his  lips  were  set,  he  was 
breathing  fast,  his  nostrils  were  dilated — he  was  at 
that  pitch  of  excitement  in  which  a  word,  a  look  or  a 
movement  brings  on  action,  instantaneous,  unrecking  of 
consequences.  But  he  exercised  repression  that  made 


EXPOSED  TO  THE  SUNLIGHT        119 

the  atmosphere  of  the  room  tingle  with  tension  of  the 
sort  that  precedes  the  clash  of  mighty  forces — he 
deliberately  sat  on  one  corner  of  Corrigan's  desk,  one 
leg  dangling,  the  other  resting  on  the  floor,  one  hand 
resting  on  the  idle  leg,  his  body  bent,  his  shoulders 
drooping  a  little  forward.  His  voice  was  dry  and 
light  —  Patrick  Carson  would  have  said  his  grin  was 
tiger-like. 

"  So  that's  the  kind  of  a  whelp  you  are !  "  he  said. 

Corrigan  caught  his  breath;  his  hands  clenched,  his 
face  reddened  darkly.  He  shot  a  quick  glance  at  the 
sheet  of  paper  under  which  he  had  placed  the  pistol. 
Trevison  interpreted  it,  brushed  the  paper  aside,  dis 
closing  the  weapon.  His  lips  curled;  he  took  the 
pistol,  " broke"  it,  tossed  cartridges  and  weapon  into 
a  corner  of  the  desk  and  laughed  lowly. 

"So  you  were  expecting  me,"  he  said.  "Well,  I'm 
here.  You  want  my  land,  eh?" 

"  I  want  the  land  that  I'm  entitled  to  under  the  terms 
of  my  purchase  —  the  original  Midland  grant,  consist 
ing  of  one-hundred  thousand  acres.  It  belongs  to  me, 
and  I  mean  to  have  it!  " 

"You're  a  liar,  Corrigan,"  said  the  young  man,  hold 
ing  the  other's  gaze  coldly;  "you're  a  lying,  sneaking 
crook.  You  have  no  claim  to  the  land,  and  you  know 
it!" 

Corrigan  smiled  stiffly.  "The  record  of  the  deal  I 
made  with  Jim  Marchmont  years  before  any  of  you 
people  usurped  the  property  is  in  my  pocket  at  this 
minute.  The  court,  here,  will  uphold  it." 

Trevison  narrowed  his   eyes   at  the  big  man   and 


i2Q  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

laughed,  bitter  humor  in  the  sound.  It  was  as  though 
he  had  laughed  to  keep  his  rage  from  leaping,  naked 
and  murderous,  into  this  discussion. 

"  It  takes  nerve,  Corrigan,  to  do  what  you  are 
attempting;  it  does,  by  Heaven  —  sheer,  brazen  gall! 
It's  been  done,  though,  by  little,  pettifogging  shysters, 
by  piking  real-estate  crooks  —  thousands  of  parcels  of 
property  scattered  all  over  the  United  States  have  been 
filched  in  that  manner.  But  a  hundred-thousand  acres  ! 
It's  the  biggest  steal  that  ever  has  been  attempted,  to 
my  knowledge,  short  of  a  Government  grab,  and  your 
imagination  does  you  credit.  It's  easy  to  see  what's 
been  done.  You've  got  a  fake  title  from  Marchmont, 
antedating  ours;  you've  got  a  crooked  judge  here,  to 
befuddle  the  thing  with  legal  technicalities;  you've  got 
the  money,  the  power,  the  greed,  and  the  cold-blooded 
determination.  But  I  don't  think  you  understand  what 
you're  up  against  —  do  you?  Nearly  every  man  who 
owns  this  land  that  you  want  has  worked  hard  for  it. 
It's  been  bought  with  work,  man  —  work  and  lonesome- 
ness  and  blood  —  and  souls.  And  now  you  want  to 
sweep  it  all  away  with  one  stroke.  You  want  to  step 
in  here  and  reap  the  benefit;  you  want  to  send  us  out 
of  here,  beggars."  His  voice  leaped  from  its  repres 
sion;  it  now  betrayed  the  passion  that  was  consuming 
him;  it  came  through  his  teeth:  uYou  can't  hand  me 
that  sort  of  a  raw  deal,  Corrigan,  and  make  me  like 
it.  Understand  that,  right  now.  You're  bucking  the 
wrong  man.  You  can  drag  the  courts  into  it ;  you  can 
wriggle  around  a  thousand  legal  corners,  but  damn  you, 
you  can't  avert  what's  bound  to  come  if  you  don't  lay 


EXPOSED  TO  THE  SUNLIGHT        121 

off  this  deal,  and  that's  a  fight!"  He  laughed,  full- 
throated,  his  voice  vibrating  from  the  strength  of  the 
passion  that  blazed  in  his  eyes.  He  revealed,  for  an 
instant  to  Corrigan  the  wild,  reckless  untamed  youth 
that  knew  no  law  save  his  own  impulses,  and  the  big 
man's  eyes  widened  with  the  revelation,  though  he  gave 
no  other  sign.  He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  smiling 
coldly,  idly  flecking  a  bit  of  ash  from  his  shirt  where 
it  had  fallen  from  his  cigar. 

"  I  am  prepared  for  a  fight.  You'll  get  plenty  of 
it  before  you're  through  —  if  you  don't  lie  down  and 
be  good."  There  was  malice  in  his  look,  complacent 
consciousness  of  his  power.  More,  there  was  an  im 
pulse  to  reveal  to  this  young  man  whom  he  intended 
to  ruin,  at  least  one  of  the  motives  that  was  driving 
him.  He  yielded  to  the  impulse. 

"I'm  going  to  tell  you  something.  I  think  I  would 
have  let  you  out  of  this  deal,  if  you  hadn't  been  so 
fresh.  But  you  made  a  grand-stand  play  before  the 
girl  I  am  going  to  marry.  You  showed  off  your  horse 
to  make  a  bid  for  her  favor.  You  paraded  before  her 
window  in  the  car  to  attract  her  attention.  I  saw  you. 
You  rode  me  down.  You'll  get  no  mercy.  I'm  going 
to  break  you.  I'm  going  to  send  you  back  to  your 
father,  Brandon,  senior,  in  worse  condition  than  when 
you  left,  ten  years  ago."  He  sneered  as  Trevison 
started  and  stepped  on  the  floor,  rigid. 

"  How  did  you  recognize  me  ?  "  Curiosity  had  dulled 
the  young  man's  passion;  his  tone  was  hoarse. 

"How?"  Corrigan  laughed,  mockingly.  "  Did  you 
think  you  could  repose  any  confidence  in  a  woman  you 


122  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

have  known  only  about  a  month?  Did  you  think  she 
wouldn't  tell  me  —  her  promised  husband?  She  has 
told  me — -everything  that  she  succeeded  in  getting  out 
of  you.  She  is  heart  and  soul  with  me  in  this  deal.  She 
is  ambitious.  Do  you  think  she  would  hesitate  to  sac 
rifice  a  clod-hopper  like  you?  She's  very  clever,  Trev- 
ison;  she's  deep,  and  more  than  a  match  for  you  in 
wits.  Fight,  if  you  like,  you'll  get  no  sympathy  there." 

Trevison's  faith  in  Miss  Benham  had  received  a 
shock;  Corrigan's  words  had  not  killed  it,  however. 

"You're  a  liar!  "he  said. 

Corrigan  flushed,  but  smiled  icily.  u  How  many  peo 
ple  know  that  you  have  coal  on  your  land,  Trevison?" 

He  saw  Trevison's  hands  clench,  and  he  laughed  in 
grim  amusement.  It  pleased  him  to  see  his  enemy 
writhe  and  squirm  before  him;  the  grimness  came 
because  of  a  mental  picture,  in  his  mind  at  this  min 
ute,  of  Trevison  confiding  in  the  girl.  He  looked  up, 
the  smile  freezing  on  his  lips,  for  within  a  foot  of  his 
chest  was  the  muzzle  of  Trevison's  pistol.  He  saw 
the  trigger  finger  contracting;  saw  Trevison's  free  hand 
clenched,  the  muscles  corded  and  knotted  —  he  felt  the 
breathless,  strained,  unreal  calm  that  precedes  tragedy, 
grim  and  swift.  He  slowly  stiffened,  but  did  not  shrink 
an  inch.  It  took  him  seconds  to  raise  his  gaze  to  Trevi 
son's  face,  and  then  he  caught  his  breath  quickly  and 
smiled  with  straight  lips. 

"No;  you  won't  do  it,  Trevison,"  he  said,  slowly; 
"  you're  not  that  kind."  He  deliberately  swung  around 
in  the  chair  and  drew  another  cigar  from  a  box  on  the 
desk  top,  lit  it  and  leaned  back,  again  facing  the  pistol. 


EXPOSED  TO  THE  SUNLIGHT        123 

Trevison  restored  the  pistol  to  the  holster,  brushing 
a  hand  uncertainly  over  his  eyes  as  though  to  clear  his 
mental  vision,  for  the  shock  that  had  come  with  the 
revelation  of  Miss  Benham's  duplicity  had  made  his 
brain  reel  with  a  lust  to  kill.  He  laughed  hollowly. 
His  voice  came  cold  and  hard: 

"You're  right  —  it  wouldn't  do.  It  would  be  plain 
murder,  and  I'm  not  quite  up  to  that.  You  know  your 
men,  don't  you — you  coyote's  whelp!  You  know  I'll 
fight  fair.  You'll  do  yours  underhandedly.  Get  up ! 
There's  your  gun!  Load  it!  Let's  see  if  you've  got 
the  nerve  to  face  a  gun,  with  one  in  your  own  Hand!  n 

"I'll  do  my  fighting  in  my  own  way."  Corrigan's 
eyes  kindled,  but  he  did  not  move.  Trevison  made  a 
gesture  of  contempt,  and  wheeled,  to  go.  As  he  turned 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  hand  holding  a  pistol,  as  it 
vanished  into  a  narrow  crevice  between  a  jamb  and 
the  door  that  led  to  the  rear  room.  He  drew  his  own 
weapon  with  a  single  movement,  and  swung  around  to 
Corrigan,  his  muscles  tensed,  his  eyes  alert  and  chill 
with  menace. 

"I'll  bore  you  if  you  wink  an  eyelash!"  he  warned, 
in  a  whisper. 

He  leaped,  with  the  words,  to  the  door,  lunging 
against  it,  sending  it  crashing  back  so  that  it  smashed 
against  the  wall,  overbalancing  some  boxes  that  reposed 
on  a  shelf  and  sending  them  clattering.  He  stood  in 
the  opening,  braced  for  another  leap,  tall,  big,  his  mus 
cles  swelling  and  rippling,  recklessly  eager.  Against 
the  partition,  which  was  still  swaying,  his  arms  out 
stretched,  a  pistol  in  one  hand,  trying  to  crowd  still 


I24  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

farther  back  to  escape  the  searching  glance  of  Trevi 
son's  eyes,  was  Braman. 

He  had  overheard  Trevison's  tense  whisper  to  Cor- 
rigan.  The  cold  savagery  in  it  had  paralyzed  him,  and 
he  gasped  as  Trevison's  eyes  found  him,  and  the  pistol 
that  he  tried  to  raise  dangled  futilely  from  his  nerve 
less  fingers.  It  thudded  heavily  upon  the  boards  of 
the  floor  an  instant  later,  a  shriek  of  fear  mingling 
with  the  sound  as  he  went  down  in  a  heap  from  a  vicious, 
deadening  blow  from  Trevison's  fist. 

Trevison's  leap  upon  Braman  had  been  swift;  he  was 
back  in  the  doorway  instantly,  looking  at  Corrigan,  his 
eyes  ablaze  with  rage,  wild,  reckless,  bitter.  He 
laughed  —  the  sound  of  it  brought  a  grayish  pallor  to 
Corrigan's  face. 

"That  explains  your  nerve!"  he  taunted.  "It's  a 
frame-up.  You  sent  the  deputy  after  me  —  pointed  me 
out  when  I  went  into  Hanrahan's !  That's  how  he  knew 
me!  You  knew  I'd  come  in  here  to  have  it  out  with 
you,  and  you  figured  to  have  Braman  shoot  me  when 
my  back  was  turned!  Ha,  ha  !  "  He  swung  his  pistol 
on  Corrigan;  the  big  man  gripped  the  arms  of  his  chair 
and  sat  rigid,  staring,  motionless.  For  an  instant  there 
was  no  sound.  And  then  Trevison  laughed  again. 

"  Bah !  "  he  said ;  "  I  can't  use  your  methods !  You're 
safe  so  long  as  you  don't  move."  He  laughed  again 
as  he  looked  down  at  the  banker.  Reaching  down,  he 
grasped  the  inert  man  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  and 
dragged  him  through  the  door,  out  into  the  banking 
room,  past  Corrigan,  who  watched  him  wonderingly, 
and  to  the  front,  there  he  dropped  him  and  turning, 


EXPOSED  TO  THE  SUNLIGHT        125 

answered  the  question  that  he  saw  shining  in  Corri- 
gan's  eyes: 

"  I  don't  work  in  the  dark !  We'll  take  this  case  out 
into  the  sunlight,  so  the  whole  town  can  have  a  look 
at  it!" 

He  stooped  swiftly,  grasped  Braman  around  the 
middle,  swung  him  aloft  and  hurled  him  through  the 
window,  into  the  street,  the  glass,  shattered,  clashing 
and  jangling  around  him.  He  turned  to  Corrigan, 
laughing  lowly: 

"  Get  up.  Manti  will  want  to  know.  I'm  going  to 
do  the  talking!  " 

He  forced  Corrigan  to  the  front  door,  and  stood 
on  the  threshold  behind  him,  silent,  watching. 

A  hundred  doorways  were  vomiting  men.  The  crash 
of  glass  had  carried  far,  and  visions  of  a  bank  rob 
bery  filled  many  brains  as  their  owners  raced  toward 
the  doorway  where  Trevison  stood,  the  muzzle  of  his 
pistol  jammed  firmly  against  Corrigan's  back. 

The  crowd  gathered,  in  the  manner  peculiar  to  such 
scenes,  coming  from  all  directions  and  converging  at 
one  point,  massing  densely  in  front  of  the  bank  build 
ing,  surrounding  the  fallen  banker,  pushing,  jostling, 
straining,  craning  necks  for  better  views,  eager-voiced, 
curious. 

No  one  touched  Braman.  On  the  contrary,  there 
were  many  in  the  front  fringe  that  braced  their  bodies 
against  the  crush,  shoving  backward,  crying  that  a 
man  was  hurt  and  needed  breathing  space.  They  were 
unheeded,  and  when  the  banker  presently  recovered  con 
sciousness  he  was  lifted  to  his  feet  and  stood,  pressed 


126  "FIREBRAND"  TREVISON 

close  to  the  building,  swaying  dizzily,  pale,  weak  and 
shaken. 

Word  had  gone  through  the  crowd  that  it  was  not 
a  robbery,  for  there  were  many  there  who  knew  Trevi- 
son;  they  shouted  greetings  to  him,  and  he  answered 
them,  standing  back  of  Corrigan,  grim  and  somber. 

Foremost  in  the  crowd  was  Mullarky,  who  on 
another  day  had  seen  a  fight  at  this  same  spot.  He  had 
taken  a  stand  directly  in  front  of  the  door  of  the  bank, 
and  had  been  using  his  eyes  and  his  wits  rapidly  since 
his  coming.  And  when  two  or  three  men  from  the 
crowd  edged  forward  and  tried  to  push  their  way  to 
Corrigan,  Mullarky  drew  a  pistol,  leaped  to  the  door 
landing  beside  Trevison  and  trained  his  weapon  on 
them. 

"Stand  back,  or  I'll  plug  you,  sure  as  I'm  a  foot 
high !  There's  hell  to  pay  here,  an'  me  friend  gets  a 
square  deal  —  whatever  he's  done!" 

"  Right ! "  came  other  voices  from  various  points  in 
the  crowd;  "a  square  deal  —  no  interference!" 

Judge  Lindman  came  out  into  the  street,  urged  by 
curiosity.  He  had  stepped  down  from  the  doorway  of 
the  courthouse  and  had  instantly  been  carried  with  the 
crowd  to  a  point  directly  in  front  of  Corrigan  and 
Trevison,  wrhere  he  stood,  bare-headed,  pale,  watching 
silently.  Corrigan  saw  him,  and  smiled  faintly  at  him. 
The  easterner's  eye  sought  out  several  faces  in  the 
crowd  near  him,  and  when  he  finally  caught  the  gaze 
of  a  certain  individual  who  had  been  eyeing  him  inquir 
ingly  for  some  moments,  he  slowly  closed  an  eye  and 
moved  his  head  slightly  toward  the  rear  of  the  build- 


EXPOSED  TO  THE  SUNLIGHT        127 

ing.  Instantly  the  man  whistled  shrilly  with  his  fingers, 
as  though  to  summon  someone  far  down  the  street, 
and  slipping  around  the  edge  of  the  crowd  made  his 
way  around  to  the  rear  of  the  bank  building,  where  he 
was  joined  presently  by  other  men,  roughly  garbed,  who 
carried  pistols.  One  of  them  climbed  in  through  a 
window,  opened  the  door,  and  the  others  —  numbering 
now  twenty-five  or  thirty,  dove  into  the  room. 

Out  in  front  a  silence  had  fallen.  Trevison  had  lifted 
a  hand  and  the  crowd  strained  its  ears  to  hear. 

"  I've  caught  a  crook !  "  declared  Trevison,  the  frenzy 
of  fight  still  surging  through  his  veins.  "  He's  not  a 
cheap  crook  —  I  give  him  credit  for  that.  All  he  wants 
to  do  is  to  steal  the  whole  county.  He'll  do  it,  too, 
if  we  don't  head  him  off.  I'll  tell  you  more  about  him 
in  a  minute.  There's  another  of  his  stripe."  He 
pointed  to  Braman,  who  cringed.  "  I  threw  him  out 
through  the  window,  where  the  sunlight  could  shine 
on  him.  He  tried  to  shoot  me  in  the  back  —  the  big 
crook  here,  framed  up  on  me.  I  want  you  all  to 
know  what  you're  up  against.  They're  after  all  the 
land  in  this  section;  they've  clouded  every  title.  It's 
a  raw,  dirty  deal.  I  see  now,  why  they  haven't  sold  a 
foot  of  the  land  they  own  here ;  why  they've  shoved  the 
cost  of  leases  up  until  it's  ruination  to  pay  them.  They're 
land  thieves,  commercial  pirates.  They're  going  to 
euchre  everybody  out  of  — " 

Trevison  caught  a  gasp  from  the  crowd  —  concerted, 
sudden.  He  saw  the  mass  sway  in  unison,  stiffen,  stand 
rigid;  and  he  turned  his  head  quickly,  to  see  the  door 
behind  him,  and  the  broken  window  through  which  he 


128  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

had  thrown  Braman  —  the  break  running  the  entire 
width  of  the  building  —  filled  with  men  armed  with 
rifles. 

He  divined  the  situation,  sensed  his  danger  —  the 
danger  that  faced  the  crowd  should  one  of  its  mem 
bers  make  a  hostile  movement. 

"Steady  there,  boys!"  he  shouted.  "Don't  start 
anything.  These  men  are  here  through  prearrange- 
ment  —  it's  another  frame-up.  Keep  your  guns  out 
of  sight ! "  He  turned,  to  see  Corrigan  grinning  con 
temptuously  at  him.  He  met  the  look  with  naked  exul 
tation  and  triumph. 

"Got  your  body-guard  within  call,  eh?"  he  jeered. 
"You  need  one.  You've  cut  me  short,  all  right;  but 
I've  said  enough  to  start  a  fire  that  will  rage  through 
this  part  of  the  country  until  every  damned  thief  is 
burned  out !  You've  selected  the  wrong  man  for  a  vic 
tim,  Corrigan." 

He  stepped  down  into  the  street,  sheathing  his  pis 
tol.  He  heard  Corrigan's  voice,  calling  after  him, 
saying: 

"  Grand-stand  play  again !  " 

Trevison  turned;  the  gaze  of  the  two  men  met,  held, 
their  hatred  glowing  bitter  in  their  eyes;  the  gaze 
broke,  like  two  sharp  blades  rasping  apart,  and  Corri 
gan  turned  to  his  deputies,  scowling;  while  Trevison 
pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd. 

Five  minutes  later,  while  Corrigan  was  talking  with 
the  deputies  and  Braman  in  the  rear  room  of  the  bank 
building,  Trevison  was  standing  in  the  courthouse  talk 
ing  with  Judge  Lindman.  The  Judge  stared  out  into 


EXPOSED  TO  THE  SUNLIGHT        129 

the  street  at  some  members  of  the  crowd  that  still 
lingered. 

"This  town  will  be  a  volcano  of  lawlessness  if  it 
doesn't  get  a  square  deal  from  you,  Lindman,"  said 
Trevison.  "  You  have  seen  what  a  mob  looks  like. 
You're  the  representative  of  justice  here,  and  if  we 
don't  get  justice  we'll  come  and  hang  you  In  spite  of 
a  thousand  deputies!  Remember  that!" 

He  stalked  out,  leaving  behind  him  a  white-faced, 
trembling  old  man  who  was  facing  a  crisis  which  made 
the  future  look  very  black  and  dismal.  He  was  won 
dering  if,  after  all,  hanging  wouldn't  be  better  than 
the  sunlight  shining  on  a  deed  which  each  day  he 
regretted  more  than  on  the  preceding  day.  And  Trevi 
son,  riding  Nigger  out  of  town,  was  estimating  the  prob 
able  effect  of  his  crowd-drawing  action  upon  Judge 
Lindman,  and  considering  bitterly  the  perfidy  of  the 
woman  who  had  cleverly  drawn  him  on,  to  betray  him. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ANOTHER  LETTER 

THAT  afternoon,  Corrigan  rode  to  the  Bar  B.  The 
ranchhouse  was  of  the  better  class,  big,  imposing, 
well-kept,  with  a  wide,  roofed  porch  running  across 
the  front  and  partly  around  both  sides.  It  stood  in  a 
grove  of  fir-balsam  and  cottonwood,  on  a  slight  emi 
nence,  and  could  be  seen  for  miles  from  the  undulating 
trail  that  led  to  Manti.  Corrigan  arrived  shortly  after 
noon,  to  find  Rosalind  gone,  for  a  ride,  Agatha  told 
him,  after  she  had  greeted  him  at  the  edge  of  the 
porch. 

Agatha  had  not  been  pleased  over  Rosalind's  rides 
with  Trevison  as  a  companion.  She  was  loyal  to  her 
brother,  and  she  did  not  admire  the  bold  recklessness 
that  shone  so  frankly  and  unmistakably  in  Trevison's 
eyes.  Had  she  been  Rosalind  she  would  have  preferred 
the  big,  sleek,  well-groomed  man  of  affairs  who  had 
called  today.  And  because  of  her  preference  for  Cor 
rigan,  she  sat  long  on  the  porch  with  him  and  told 
him  many  things  —  things  that  darkened  the  big  man's 
face.  And  when,  as  they  were  talking,  Rosalind  came, 
Agatha  discreetly  retired,  leaving  the  two  alone. 

For  a  time  after  the  coming  of  Rosalind,  Corrigan 
sat  in  a  big  rocking  chair,  looking  thoughtfully  down 

130 


ANOTHER  LETTER 131 

the  Manti  trail,  listening  to  the  girl  talk  of  the  coun 
try,  picturing  her  on  a  distant  day  —  not  too  distant, 
either,  for  he  meant  to  press  his  suit  —  sitting  beside 
him  on  the  porch  of  another  house  that  he  meant  to 
build  when  he  had  achieved  his  goal.  These  thoughts 
thrilled  him  as  they  had  never  thrilled  him  until  the 
entrance  of  Trevison  into  his  scheme  of  things.  He 
had  been  sure  of  her  then.  And  now  the  knowledge 
that  he  had  a  rival,  filled  him  with  a  thousand  emotions, 
the  most  disturbing  of  which  was  jealousy.  The  rage 
in  him  was  deep  and  malignant  as  he  coupled  the  men 
tal  pictures  of  his  imagination  with  the  material  record 
of  Rosalind's  movements  with  his  rival,  as  related  by 
Agatha.  It  was  not  his  way  to  procrastinate ;  he  meant 
to  exert  every  force  at  his  command,  quickly,  resist- 
lessly,  to  destroy  Trevison,  to  blacken  him  and  damn 
him,  in  the  eyes  of  the  girl  who  sat  beside  him.  But 
he  knew  that  in  the  girl's  presence  he  must  be  wise  and 
subtle. 

"It's  a  great  country,  isn't  it?"  he  said,  his  eyes 
on  the  broad  reaches  of  plain,  green-brown  in  the  shim 
mering  sunlight.  "Look  at  it  —  almost  as  big  as  some 
of  the  Old-world  states !  It's  a  wonderful  country. 
I  feel  like  a  feudal  baron,  with  the  destinies  of  an 
important  principality  in  the  clutch  of  my  hand!" 

"Yes;  it  must  give  one  a  feeling  of  great  responsi 
bility  to  know  that  one  has  an  important  part  in  the 
development  of  a  section  like  this." 

He  laughed,  deep  in  his  throat,  at  the  awe  in  her 
voice.  "  I  ought  to  have  seen  its  possibilities  years  ago 
—  I  should  have  been  out  here,  preparing  for  this. 


132  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

But  when  I  bought  the  land  I  had  no  idea  it  would 
one  day  be  so  valuable." 

"Bought  it?" 

"A  hundred  thousand  acres  of  it.  I  got  it  very 
cheap."  He  told  her  about  the  Midland  grant  and  his 
purchase  from  Marchmont. 

" I  never  heard  of  that  before!  "  she  told  him. 

"  It  wasn't  generally  known.  In  fact,  it  was  appar 
ently  generally  considered  that  the  land  had  been  sold 
by  the  Midland  Company  to  various  people  —  in  small 
parcels.  Unscrupulous  agents  engineered  the  sales,  I 
suppose.  But  the  fact  is  that  I  made  the  purchase  from 
the  Midland  Company  years  ago  —  largely  as  a  per 
sonal  favor  to  Jim  Marchmont,  who  needed  money 
badly.  And  a  great  many  of  the  ranch-owners  around 
here  really  have  no  title  to  their  land,  and  will  have 
to  give  it  up." 

She  breathed  deeply.  "That  will  be  a  great  disap 
pointment  to  them,  now  that  there  exists  the  probability 
of  a  great  advance  in  the  value  of  the  land." 

"  That  was  the  owners'  lookout.  A  purchaser  should 
see  that  his  deed  is  clear  before  closing  a  deal." 

"What  owners  will  be  affected?"  She  spoke  with  a 
slight  breathlessness. 

"  Many."  He  named  some  of  them,  leaving  Trevi- 
son  to  the  last,  and  then  watching  her  furtively  out 
of  the  corners  of  his  eyes  and  noting,  with  straight 
ened  lips,  the  quick  gasp  she  gave.  She  said  nothing; 
she  was  thinking  of  the  great  light  that  had  been  in 
Trevison's  eyes  on  the  day  he  had  told  her  of  his 
ten  years  of  exile;  she  could  remember  his  words,  they 


ANOTHER  LETTER 133 

had  been  vivid  fixtures  in  her  mind  ever  since:  "I 
own  five  thousand  acres,  and  about  a  thousand  acres  of 
it  is  the  best  coal  land  in  the  United  States.  I  wouldn't 
sell  it  for  love  or  money,  for  when  your  father  gets 
his  railroad  running,  I'm  going  to  cash  in  on  ten  of 
the  leanest  and  hardest  and  lonesomest  years  that  any 
man  ever  put  in." 

How  hard  it  would  be  for  him  to  give  it  all  up; 
to  acknowledge  defeat,  to  feel  those  ten  wasted  years 
behind  him,  empty,  unproductive;  full  of  shattered 
hopes  and  dreams  changed  to  nightmares!  She  sat, 
white  of  face,  gripping  the  arms  of  her  chair,  feeling  a 
great,  throbbing  sympathy  for  him. 

"  You  will  take  it  all?" 

"  He  will  still  hold  one  hundred  and  sixty  acres  — 
the  quarter-section  granted  him  by  the  government, 
which  he  has  undoubtedly  proved  on." 

"Why — n  she  began,  and  paused,  for  to  go  further 
would  be  to  inject  her  personal  affairs  into  the  con 
versation. 

"Trevison  is  an  evil  in  the  country,"  he  went  on, 
speaking  in  a  judicial  manner,  but  watching  her  nar 
rowly.  "  It  is  men  like  him  who  retard  civilization.  He 
opposes  law  and  order  —  defies  them.  It  is  a  shock, 
I  know,  to  learn  that  the  title  to  property  that  you 
have  regarded  as  your  own  for  years,  is  in  jeopardy. 
But  still,  a  man  can  play  the  man  and  not  yield  to  law 
less  impulses." 

"What  has  happened?"  She  spoke  breathlessly, 
for  something  in  Corrigan's  voice  warned  her. 

"Very  little  —  from  Trevison's  viewpoint,    I   sup- 


134  "FIREBRAND"   TREFI80N 

pose,"  he  laughed.  "  He  came  into  my  office  this  morn 
ing,  after  being  served  with  a  summons  from  Judge 
Lindman's  court  in  regard  to  the  title  of  his  land,  and 
tried  to  kill  me.  Failing  in  that,  he  knocked  poor,  inof 
fensive  little  Braman  down  —  who  had  interfered  in 
my  behalf  —  and  threw  him  bodily  through  the  front 
window  of  the  building,  glass  and  all.  It's  lucky  for 
him  that  Braman  wasn't  hurt.  After  that  he  tried  to 
incite  a  riot,  which  Judge  Lindman  nipped  in  the  bud  by 
sending  a  number  of  deputies,  armed  with  rifles,  to  the 
scene.  It  was  a  wonderful  exhibition  of  outlawry.  I 
was  very  sorry  to  have  it  happen,  and  any  more  such 
outbreaks  will  result  in  Trevison's  being  jailed  —  if  not 


worse." 


u  My  God!  "  she  panted,  in  a  whisper,  and  became 
lost  in  deep  thought. 

They  sat  for  a  time,  without  speaking.  She  studied 
the  profile  of  the  man  and  compared  its  reposeful 
strength  with  that  of  the  man  who  had  ridden  with 
her  many  times  since  her  coming  to  Blakeley's.  The 
turbulent  spirit  of  Trevison  awed  her  now,  frightened 
her  —  she  feared  for  his  future.  But  she  pitied  him; 
the  sympathy  that  gripped  her  made  icy  shivers  run 
over  her. 

"  From  what  I  understand,  Trevison  has  always 
been  a  disturber,"  resumed  Corrigan.  "He  disgraced 
himself  at  college,  and  afterwards  —  to  such  an  extent 
that  his  father  cut  him  off.  He  hasn't  changed,  appar 
ently;  he  is  still  doing  the  same  old  tricks.  He  had 
some  sort  of  a  love  affair  before  coming  West,  your 
father  told  me.  God  help  the  girl  who  marries  him !  " 


ANOTHER  LETTER 135 

The  girl  flushed  at  the  last  sentence;  she  replied  to 
the  preceding  one: 

"  Yes.  Hester  Keyes  threw  him  over,  after  he  broke 
with  his  father." 

She  did  not  see  Corrigan's  eyes  quicken,  for  she  was 
wondering  if,  after  all,  Hester  Keyes  had  not  acted 
wisely  in  breaking  with  Trevison.  Certainly,  Hester  had 
been  in  a  position  to  know  him  better  than  some  of 
those  critics  who  had  found  fault  with  her  for  her 
action  —  herself,  for  instance.  She  sighed,  for  the 
memory  of  her  ideal  was  dimming.  A  figure  that  rep 
resented  violence  and  bloodshed  had  come  in  its  place. 

"  Hester  Keyes,"  said  Corrigan,  musingly.  "  Did 
she  marry  a  fellow  named  Harvey — afterwards? 
Winslow  Harvey,  if  I  remember  rightly.  He  died  soon 
after?" 

"  Yes  —  do  you  know  her  ?  " 

"  Slightly."  Corrigan  laughed.  "  I  knew  her  father. 
Well,  well.  So  Trevison  worshiped  there,  did  he? 
Was  he  badly  hurt  —  do  you  know?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"Well,"  said  Corrigan,  getting  up,  and  speaking 
lightly,  as  though  dismissing  the  subject  from  his  mind; 
"I  presume  he  was  —  and  still  is,  for  that  matter.  A 
person  never  forgets  the  first  love."  He  smiled  at  her. 
"  Won't  you  go  with  me  for  a  short  ride?" 

The  ride  was  taken,  but  a  disturbing  question  lingered 
in  Rosalind's  mind  throughout,  and  would  not  be  solved. 
Had  Trevison  forgotten  Hester  Keyes?  Did  he  think 
of  her  as  —  as  —  well,  as  she,  herself,  sometimes 
thought  of  Trevison  —  as  she  thought  of  him  now  — 


136  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

with  a  haunting  tenderness  that  made  his  faults  recede, 
as  the  shadows  vanish  before  the  sunshine? 

What  Corrigan  thought  was  expressed  in  a  satisfied 
chuckle,  as  later,  he  loped  his  horse  toward  Manti. 
That  night  he  wrote  a  letter  and  sent  it  East.  It  was 
addressed  to  Mrs.  Hester  Harvey,  and  was  subscribed: 
"  Your  old  friend,  Jeff." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  RUMBLE  OF  WAR 

THE  train  that  carried  Corrigan's  letter  eastward 
bore,  among  its  few  other  passengers,  a  young 
man  with  a  jaw  set  like  a  steel  trap,  who  leaned  for 
ward  in  his  seat,  gripping  the  back  of  the  seat  in  front 
of  him;  an  eager,  smoldering  light  in  his  eyes,  who  rose 
at  each  stop  the  train  made  and  glared  belligerently 
and  intolerantly  at  the  coach  ends,  muttering  guttural 
anathemas  at  the  necessity  for  delays.  The  spirit  of 
battle  was  personified  in  him;  it  sat  on  his  squared 
shoulders;  it  was  in  the  thrust  of  his  chin,  stuck  out  as 
though  to  receive  blows,  which  his  rippling  muscles 
would  be  eager  to  return.  Two  other  passengers  in 
the  coach  watched  him  warily,  and  once,  when  he  got 
up  and  walked  to  the  front  of  the  coach,  opening  the 
door  and  looking  out,  to  let  in  the  roar  and  whir  and 
the  clatter,  one  of  the  passengers  remarked  to  the 
other :  "  That  guy  is  in  a  temper  where  murder  would 
come  easy  to  him." 

The  train  left  Manti  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening. 
At  midnight  it  pulled  up  at  the  little  frame  station  in 
Dry  Bottom  and  the  young  man  leaped  off  and  strode 
rapidly  away  into  the  darkness  of  the  desert  town.  A 
little  later,  J.  Blackstone  Graney,  attorney  at  law,  and 

137 


138  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

former  Judge  of  the  United  States  District  Court  at 
Dry  Bottom,  heard  a  loud  hammering  on  the  door  of 
his  residence  at  the  outskirts  of  town.  He  got  up,  with 
a  grunt  of  resentment  for  all  heavy-fisted  fools  abroad 
on  midnight  errands,  and  went  downstairs  to  admit  a 
grim-faced  stranger  who  looked  positively  blood-thirsty 
to  the  Judge,  under  the  nervous  tension  of  his  midnight 
awakening. 

"I'm  'Brand5  Trevison,  owner  of  the  Diamond  K 
ranch,  near  Manti,"  said  the  stranger,  with  blunt  sharp 
ness  that  made  the  Judge  blink.  "  I've  a  case  on  in  the 
Manti  court  at  ten  o'clock  tomorrow  —  today,"  he  cor 
rected.  "They  are  going  to  try  to  swindle  me  out  of 
my  land,  and  I've  got  to  have  a  lawyer — a  real  one. 
I  could  have  got  half  a  dozen  in  Manti  —  such  as 
they  are  —  but  I  want  somebody  who  is  wise  in  the 
law,  and  with  the  sort  of  honor  that  money  and  power 
can't  blast  —  I  want  you!" 

Judge  Graney  looked  sharply  at  his  visitor,  and 
smiled.  "You  are  evidently  desperately  harried.  Sit 
down  and  tell  me  about  your  case."  He  waved  to  a 
chair  and  Trevison  dropped  into  it,  sitting  on  its  edge. 
The  Judge  took  another,  and  with  the  kerosene  lamp 
between  them  on  a  table,  Trevison  related  what  had 
occurred  during  the  previous  morning  in  Manti.  When 
he  concluded,  the  Judge's  face  was  serious. 

"  If  what  you  say  is  true,  it  is  a  very  awkward,  not 
to  say  suspicious,  situation.  Being  the  only  lawyer  in 
Dry  Bottom,  until  the  coming  of  Judge  Lindman,  I 
have  had  occasion  many  times  to  consult  the  record 
you  speak  of,  and  if  my  memory  serves  me  well,  I 


A  RUMBLE  OF  WAR 139 

have  noted  several  times  —  quite  casually,  of  course, 
since  I  have  never  been  directly  concerned  with  the 
records  of  the  land  in  your  vicinity  —  that  several  trans 
fers  of  title  to  the  original  Midland  grant  have  been 
recorded.  Your  deed  would  show,  of  course,  the  date 
of  your  purchase  from  Buck  Peters,  and  we  shall,  per 
haps,  be  able  to  determine  the  authenticity  of  the  pres 
ent  record  in  that  manner.  But  if,  as  you  believe,  the 
records  have  been  tampered  with,  we  are  facing  a  long, 
hard  legal  battle  which  may  or  may  not  result  in  an 
ultimate  victory  for  us  —  depending  upon  the  power 
behind  the  interests  opposed  to  you." 

"  I'll  fight  them  to  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United 
States!"  declared  Trevison.  "I'll  fight  them  with 
the  law  or  without  it!  " 

"I  know  it,"  said  Graney,  with  a  shrewd  glance  at 
the  other's  grim  face.  "  But  be  careful  not  to  do  any 
thing  that  will  jeopardize  your  liberty.  If  those  men 
are  what  you  think  they  are,  they  would  be  only 
too  glad  to  have  you  break  some  law  that  would  give 
them  an  excuse  to  jail  you.  You  couldn't  do  much  fight 
ing  then,  you  know."  He  got  up.  "There's  a  train 
out  of  here  in  about  an  hour  —  we'll  take  it." 

About  six  o'clock  that  morning  the  two  men  stepped 
off  the  train  at  Manti.  Graney  went  directly  to  a  hotel, 
to  wash  and  breakfast,  while  Trevison,  a  little  tired 
and  hollow-eyed  from  loss  of  sleep  and  excitement,  and 
with  a  two  days'  growth  of  beard  on  his  face,  which 
made  him  look  worse  than  he  actually  felt,  sought  the 
livery  stable  where  he  had  left  Nigger  the  night  before, 
mounted  the  animal  and  rode  rapidly  out  of  town 


I4Q  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

toward  the  Diamond  K.  He  took  a  trail  that  led 
through  the  cut  where  on  another  morning  he  had 
startled  the  laborers  by  riding  down  the  wall  —  Nigger 
eating  up  the  ground  with  long,  sure,  swift  strides  — 
passing  Pat  Carson  and  his  men  at  a  point  on  the  level 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond  the  cut.  He  waved  a 
hand  to  Carson  as  he  flashed  by,  and  something  in 
his  manner  caused  Carson  to  remark  to  the  engineer 
of  the  dinky  engine:  "Somethings  up  wid  Trevison 
ag'in,  Murph  —  he's  got  a  domned  mean  look  in  his 
eye.  I'm  the  onluckiest  son-av-a-gun  in  the  worruld, 
Murph!  First  I  miss  seein'  this  fire-eater  bate  the 
face  off  the  big  ilephant,  Corrigan,  an'  yisterday  I  was 
figgerin'  on  goin'  to  town  —  but  didn't;  an'  I  miss 
seein'  that  little  whiffet  of  a  Braman  flyin'  through  the 
windy.  Do  ye's  know  that  there's  a  feelin'  ag'in  Cor 
rigan  an'  the  railroad  in  town,  an'  thot  this  mon  Trevi 
son  is  the  fuse  that  wud  bust  the  boom  av  discontint. 
I'm  beginnin'  to  feel  a  little  excited  meself.  Now  what 
do  ye  suppose  that  gang  av  min  wid  Winchesters  was 
doin',  comin'  from  thot  direction  this  mornin'?"  He 
pointed  toward  the  trail  that  Trevison  was  riding. 
"An'  that  big  stiff,  Corrigan,  wid  thim!  " 

Trevison  got  the  answer  to  this  query  the  minute  he 
reached  the  Diamond  K  ranchhouse.  His  foreman 
came  running  to  him,  pale,  disgusted,  his  voice  snapping 
like  a  whip : 

"They've  busted  your  desk  an'  rifled  it.  Twenty 
guys  who  said  they  was  deputies  from  the  court  in 
Manti,  an'  Corrigan.  I  was  here  alone,  watchin',  as 
you  told  me,  but  couldn't  move  a  finger — damn  'em!  " 


A  RUMBLE  OF  WAR 141 

Trevison  dismounted  and  ran  into  the  house.  The 
room  that  he  used  as  an  office  was  in  a  state  of  dis 
order.  Papers,  books,  littered  the  floor.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  a  thorough  search  had  been  made  —  for  some 
thing.  Trevison  darted  to  the  desk  and  ran  a  hand  into 
the  pigeonhole  in  which  he  kept  the  deed  which  he 
had  come  for.  The  hand  came  out,  empty.  He  sprang 
to  the  door  of  a  small  closet  where,  in  a  box  that  con 
tained  some  ammunition  that  he  kept  for  the  use  of 
his  men,  he  had  placed  the  money  that  Rosalind  Ben- 
ham  had  brought  to  him.  The  money  was  not  there. 
He  walked  to  the  center  of  the  room  and  stood  for 
an  instant,  surveying  the  mass  of  litter  around  him, 
reeling,  rage-drunken,  murder  in  his  heart.  Barkwell, 
the  foreman,  watching  him,  drew  great,  long  breaths 
of  sympathy  and  excitement. 

"Shall  I  get  the  boys  an'  go  after  them  damn 
sneaks?"  he  questioned,  his  voice  tremulous.  "We'll 
clean  'em  out  —  smoke  'em  out  of  the  county!"  he 
threatened.  He  started  for  the  door. 

"Wait!"  Trevison  had  conquered  the  first  surge 
of  passion;  his  grin  was  cold  and  bitter  as  he  crossed 
glances  with  his  foreman.  "Don't  do  anything  —  yet. 
I'm  going  to  play  the  peace  string  out.  If  it  doesn't 
work,  why  then  —  "  He  tapped  his  pistol  holster  sig 
nificantly. 

"You  get  a  few  of  the  boys  and  stay  here  with 
them.  It  isn't  probable  that  they'll  try  anything  like 
that  again,  because  they've  got  what  they  wanted.  But 
if  they  happen  to  come  again,  hold  them  until  I  come. 
I'm  going  to  court." 


1 42  "FIREBRAND"   TREASON 

Later,  in  Manti,  he  was  sitting  opposite  Graney  in 
a  room  in  the  hotel  to  which  the  Judge  had  gone. 

"  H'm,"  said  the  latter,  compressing  his  lips ;  "  that's 
sharp  practice.  They  are  not  wasting  any  time." 

" Was  it  legal?" 

"The  law  is  elastic — some  judges  stretch  it  more 
than  others.  A  search-warrant  and  a  writ  of  attach 
ment  probably  did  the  business  in  this  case.  What  I 
can't  understand  is  why  Judge  Lindman  issued  the  writ 
at  all  —  if  he  did  so.  You  are  the  defendant,  and  you 
certainly  would  have  brought  the  deed  into  court  as 
a  means  of  proving  your  case." 

Trevison  had  mentioned  the  missing  money,  though 
he  did  not  think  it  important  to  explain  where  it  had 
come  from.  And  Judge  Graney  did  not  ask  him.  But 
when  court  opened  at  the  appointed  time,  with  a  dignity 
which^was  a  mockery  to  Trevison,  and  Judge  Graney 
had  explained  that  he  had  come  to  represent  the  defend 
ant  in  the  action,  he  mildly  inquired  the  reason  for  the 
forcible  entry  into  his  client's  house,  explaining  also 
that  since  the  defendant  was  required  to  prove  his  case 
it  was  optional  with  him  whether  or  not  the  deed  be 
brought  into  court  at  all. 

Corrigan  had  been  on  time;  he  had  nodded  curtly  to 
Trevison  when  he  had  entered  to  take  the  chair  in 
which  he  now  sat,  and  had  smiled  when  Trevison  had 
deliberately  turned  his  back.  He  smiled  when  Judge 
Graney  asked  the  question  —  a  faint,  evanescent  smirk. 
But  at  Judge  Lindman's  reply  he  sat  staring  stolidly, 
his  face  an  impenetrable  mask: 

"There  was  no  mention  of  a  deed  in  the  writ  of 


A  RUMBLE  OF  WAR 143 

attachment  issued  by  the  court.  Nor  has  the  court  any 
knowledge  of  the  existence  of  such  a  deed.  The  officers 
of  the  court  were  commanded  to  proceed  to  the  defend 
ant's  house,  for  the  purpose  of  finding,  if  possible,  and 
delivering  to  this  court  the  sum  of  twenty-seven  hun 
dred  dollars,  which  amount,  representing  the  money 
paid  to  the  defendant  by  the  railroad  company  for  cer 
tain  grants  and  privileges,  is  to  remain  in  possession  of 
the  court  until  the  title  to  the  land  in  litigation  has 
been  legally  awarded." 

"  But  the  court  officers  seized  the  defendant's  deed, 
also,"  objected  Judge  Graney. 

Judge  Lindman  questioned  a  deputy  who  sat  in  the 
rear  of  the  room.  The  latter  replied  that  he  had  seen 
no  deed.  Yes,  he  admitted,  in  reply  to  a  question  of 
Judge  Graney's,  it  might  have  been  possible  that  Cor- 
rigan  had  been  alone  in  the  office  for  a  time. 

Graney  looked  inquiringly  at  Corrigan.  The  latter 
looked  steadily  back  at  him.  "  I  saw  no  deed,"  he  said, 
coolly.  "  In  fact,  it  wouldn't  be  possible  for  me  to  see 
any  deed,  for  Trevison  has  no  title  to  the  property  he 
speaks  of." 

Judge  Graney  made  a  gesture  of  impotence  to  Trevi 
son,  then  spoke  slowly  to  the  court.  "  I  am  afraid  that 
without  the  deed  it  will  be  impossible  for  us  to  proceed. 
I  ask  a  continuance  until  a  search  can  be  made." 

Judge  Lindman  coughed.  u  I  shall  have  to  refuse 
the  request.  The  plaintiff  is  anxious  to  take  possession 
of  his  property,  and  as  no  reason  has  been  shown  why 
he  should  not  be  permitted  to  do  so,  I  hereby  return 
judgment  in  his  favor.  Court  is  dismissed." 


144  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

"I  give  notice  of  appeal,"  said  Graney. 

Outside  a  little  later  Judge  Graney  looked  gravely 
at  Trevison.  "There's  knavery  here,  my  boy;  there's 
some  sort  of  influence  behind  Lindman.  Let's  see  some 
of  the  other  owners  who  are  likely  to  be  affected." 

This  task  took  them  two  days,  and  resulted  in  the 
discovery  that  no  other  owner  had  secured  a  deed  to 
his  land.  Lefingwell  explained  the  omission. 

"A  sale  is  a  sale,"  he  said;  "or  a  sale  has  been  a 
sale  until  now.  Land  has  changed  hands  out  here 
just  the  same  as  we'd  trade  a  horse  for  a  cow  or  a  pipe 
for  a  jack-knife.  There  was  no  questions  asked.  When 
a  man  had  a  piece  of  land  to  sell,  he  sold  it,  got  his 
money  an'  didn't  bother  to  give  a  receipt.  Half  the 
damn  fools  in  this  country  wouldn't  know  a  deed  from 
a  marriage  license,  an'  they  haven't  been  needin'  one 
or  the  other.  For  when  a  man  has  a  wife  she's  con 
tinually  remindin'  him  of  it,  an'  he  can't  forget  it  — 
he's  got  her.  It's  the  same  with  his  land  —  he's  got  it. 
So  far  as  I  know  there's  never  been  a  deed  issued  for 
my  land  —  or  any  of  the  land  in  that  Midland  grant, 
except  Trevison's." 

"  It  looks  as  though  Corrigan  had  considered  that 
phase  of  the  matter,"  dryly  observed  Judge  Graney. 
"The  case  doesn't  look  very  hopeful.  However,  I 
shall  take  it  before  the  Circuit  Court  of  Appeals,  in 
Santa  Fe." 

He  was  gone  a  week,  and  returned,  disgusted,  but 
determined. 

"They  denied  our  appeal;  said  they  might  have 
considered  it  if  we  had  some  evidence  to  offer  showing 


A  RUMBLE  OF  WAR  145 

that  we  had  some  sort  of  a  claim  to  the  title.  When 
I  told  them  of  my  conviction  that  the  records  had  been 
tampered  with,  they  laughed  at  me."  The  Judge's 
eyes  gleamed  indignantly.  "  Sometimes,  I  feel  heartily 
in  sympathy  with  people  who  rail  at  the  courts  —  their 
attitude  is  often  positively  asinine." 

"  Perhaps  the  long  arm  of  power  has  reached  to 
Santa  Fe?"  suggested  Trevison. 

"  It  won't  reach  to  Washington,"  declared  the  Judge, 
decisively.  "  And  if  you  say  the  word,  I'll  go  there  and 
see  what  I  can  do.  It's  an  outrage !  " 

"I  was  hoping  you'd  go  —  there's  no  limit,"  said 
Trevison.  "  But  as  I  see  the  situation,  everything 
depends  upon  the  discovery  of  the  original  record.  I'm 
convinced  that  it  is  still  in  existence,  and  that  Judge 
Lindman  knows  where  it  is.  I'm  going  to  get  it,  or  —  " 

"Easy,  my  friend,"  cautioned  the  Judge.  "I  know 
how  you  feel.  But  you  can't  fight  the  law  with  law 
lessness.  You  lie  quiet  until  you  hear  from  me.  That 
is  all  there  is  to  be  done,  anyway — win  or  lose." 

Trevison  clenched  his  teeth.  "I  might  feel  that 
way  about  it,  if  I  had  been  as  careless  of  my  interests 
as  the  other  owners  here,  but  I  safeguarded  my  inter 
ests,  trusted  them  to  the  regularly  recognized  law  out 
here,  and  I'm  going  to  fight  for  them!  Why,  good 
God,  man;  I've  worked  ten  years  for  that  land!  Do 
you  think  I  will  see  it  go  without  a  fight?"  He 
laughed,  and  the  Judge  shook  his  head  at  the  sound. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A   MUTUAL   BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION 

UNHEEDING  the  drama  that  was  rapidly  and 
invisibly  (except  for  the  incident  of  Braman  and 
the  window)  working  itself  out  in  its  midst,  Manti 
lunged  forward  on  the  path  of  progress,  each  day 
growing  larger,  busier,  more  noisy  and  more  important. 
Perhaps  Manti  did  not  heed,  because  Manti  was  itself 
a  drama  —  the  drama  of  creation.  Each  resident,  each 
new-comer,  settled  quickly  and  firmly  into  the  place 
that  desire  or  ambition  or  greed  urged  him;  put  forth 
whatever  energy  nature  had  endowed  him  with,  and 
pushed  on  toward  the  goal  toward  which  the  town 
was  striving — success;  collectively  winning,  unrecking 
of  individual  failure  or  tragedy — those  things  were 
to  be  expected,  and  they  fell  into  the  limbo  of  forgotten 
things,  easily  and  unnoticed.  Wrecks,  disasters,  were 
certain.  They  came  —  turmoil  engulfed  them. 

Which  is  to  say  that  during  the  two  weeks  that  had 
elapsed  since  the  departure  of  Judge  Graney  for  Wash 
ington,  Manti  had  paid  very  little  attention  to  "  Brand  " 
Trevison  while  he  haunted  the  telegraph  station  and 
the  post-office  for  news.  He  was  pointed  out,  it  is 
true,  as  the  man  who  had  hurled  banker  Braman 
through  the  window  of  his  bank  building;  there  was 

146 


A  MUTUAL  BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION  147 

a  hazy  understanding  that  he  was  having  some  sort  of 
trouble  with  Corrigan  over  some  land  titles,  but  in  the 
main  Manti  buzzed  along,  busy  with  its  visions  and  its 
troubles,  leaving  Trevison  with  his. 

The  inaction,  with  the  imminence  of  failure  after 
ten  years  of  effort,  had  its  effect  on  Trevison.  It  fret 
ted  him;  he  looked  years  older;  he  looked  worried  and 
harassed:  he  longed  for  a  chance  to  come  to  grips  in 
an  encounter  that  would  ease  the  strain.  Physical  action 
it  must  be,  for  his  brain  was  a  muddle  of  passion  and 
hatred  in  which  clear  thoughts,  schemes,  plans,  plots, 
were  swallowed  and  lost.  He  wanted  to  come  into 
physical  contact  with  the  men  and  things  that  were 
thwarting  him;  he  wanted  to  feel  the  thud  and  jar  of 
blows;  to  catch  the  hot  breath  of  open  antagonism;  he 
yearned  to  feel  the  strain  of  muscles  —  this  fighting  in 
the  dark  with  courts  and  laws  and  lawyers,  according 
to  rules  and  customs,  filled  him  with  a  raging  impotence 
that  hurt  him.  And  then,  at  the  end  of  two  weeks  came 
a  telegram  from  Judge  Graney,  saying  merely:  "  Be 
patient.  It's  a  long  trail." 

Trevison  got  on  Nigger  and  returned  to  the  Dia 
mond  K. 

The  six  o'clock  train  arrived  in  Manti  that  even 
ing  with  many  passengers,  among  whom  was  a  woman 
of  twenty-eight  at  whom  men  turned  to  look  the 
second  time.  Her  traveling  suit  spoke  eloquently  of 
that  personal  quality  which  a  language,  seeking  new 
and  expressive  phrases  describes  as  u  class."  It  fitted 
her  smoothly,  tightly,  revealing  certain  lines  of  her 
graceful  figure  that  made  various  citizens  of  Manti 


148  "FIREBRAND"  TREFI8ON 

gasp.  "  Looks  like  she'd  been  poured  into  it," 
remarked  an  interested  lounger.  She  lingered  on  the 
station  platform  until  she  saw  her  trunks  safely  depos 
ited,  and  then,  drawing  her  skirts  as  though  fearful  of 
contamination,  she  walked,  self-possessed  and  cool, 
through  the  doorway  of  the  Castle  hotel — Manti's 
aristocrat  of  hostelries. 

Shortly  afterwards  she  admitted  Corrigan  to  her 
room.  She  had  changed  from  her  traveling  suit  to  a 
gown  of  some  soft,  glossy  material  that  accentuated  the 
lines  revealed  by  the  discarded  habit.  The  worldly- 
wise  would  have  viewed  the  lady  with  a  certain  expres 
sive  smile  that  might  have  meant  much  or  nothing.  And 
the  lady  would  have  looked  upon  that  smile  as  she 
now  looked  at  Corrigan,  with  a  faint  defiance  that  had 
quite  a  little  daring  in  it.  But  in  the  present  case 
there  was  an  added  expression  —  two,  in  fact  —  pleas 
ure  and  expectancy. 

"Well  —  I'm  here."  She  bowed,  mockingly,  laugh 
ingly,  compressing  her  lips  as  she  noted  the  quick  fire 
that  flamed  in  her  visitor's  eyes. 

"That's  all  over,  Jeff;  I  won't  go  back  to  it.  If 
that's  why — " 

"That's  all  right,"  he  said,  smiling  as  he  took  the 
chair  she  waved  him  to;  "I've  erased  a  page  or  two 
from  the  past,  myself.  But  I  can't  help  admiring  you ; 
you  certainly  are  looking  fine!  What  have  you  been 
doing  to  yourself?" 

She  draped  herself  in  a  chair  where  she  could  look 
straight  at  him,  and  his  compliment  made  her  mouth 
harden  at  the  corners. 


A  MUTUAL  BENEFIT  ASSOCIATION   149 

"Well,"  she  said;  "in  your  letter  you  promised 
you'd  take  me  into  your  confidence.  I'm  ready." 

"It's  purely  a  business  proposition.  Each  realizes 
on  his  effort.  You  help  me  to  get  Rosalind  Benham 
through  the  simple  process  of  fascinating  Trevison; 
I  help  you  to  get  Trevison  by  getting  Miss  Benham. 
It's  a  sort  of  mutual  benefit  association,  as  it  were." 

"What  does  Trevison  look  like,  Jeff  — tell  me?" 
The  woman  leaned  forward  in  her  chair,  her  eyes  glow 
ing. 

"Oh,  you  women!"  said  Corrigan,  with  a  gesture 
of  disgust.  "He's  a  handsome  fool,"  he  added;  "if 
that's  what  you  want  to  know.  But  I  haven't  any  com 
pliments  to  hand  him  regarding  his  manners  —  he's  a 
wild  man! " 

"I'd  love  to  see  him! "  breathed  the  woman. 

"Well,  keep  your  hair  on;  you'll  see  him  soon 
enough.  But  you've  got  to  understand  this :  He's  on 
my  land,  and  he  gets  off  without  further  fighting  —  if 
you  can  hold  him.  That's  understood,  eh?  You  win 
him  back  and  get  him  away  from  here.  If  you  double- 
cross  me,  he  finds  out  what  you  are!"  He  flung  the 
words  at  her,  roughly. 

She  spoke  quietly,  though  color  stained  her  cheeks. 
"Not  'are,'  Jeff  —  what  I  was.  That  would  be  bad 
enough.  But  have  no  fear — I  shall  do  as  you  ask. 
For  I  want  him  —  I  have  wanted  him  all  the  time  — 
even  during  the  time  I  was  chained  to  that  little  beast, 
Harvey.  I  wouldn't  have  been  what  I  am  —  if  —  if 

M 

"  Cut  it  out !  "  he  advised  brutally;  "  the  man  always 


I5Q  "FIREBRAND"   TREFI8ON 

gets  the  blame,  anyway  —  so  it's  no  novelty  to  hear 
that  sort  of  stuff.  So  you  understand,  eh?  You  choose 
your  own  method  —  but  get  results  —  quick!  I  want 
to  get  that  damned  fool  away  from  here !  "  He  got  up 
and  paced  back  and  forth  in  the  room.  "If  he  takes 
Rosalind  Benham  away  from  me  I'll  kill  him!  I'll  kill 
him,  anyway! " 

"Has  it  gone  very  far  between  them?"  The  con 
cern  in  her  voice  brought  a  harsh  laugh  from  Corri- 
gan. 

"Far  enough,  I  guess.  He's  been  riding  with  her; 
every  day  for  three  weeks,  her  aunt  told  me.  He's  a 
fiery,  impetuous  devil!" 

"Don't  worry,"  she  consoled.  "And  now,"  she 
directed;  "get  out  of  here.  I've  been  on  the  go  for 
days  and  days,  and  I  want  to  sleep.  I  shall  go  out 
to  see  Rosalind  tomorrow  —  to  surprise  her,  Jeff  —  to 
surprise  her.  Ha,  ha  !  " 

"  I'll  have  a  rig  here  for  you  at  nine  o'clock,"  said 
Corrigan.  "Take  your  trunks  —  she  won't  order  you 
away.  Tell  her  that  Trevison  sent  for  you  —  don't 
mention  my  name;  and  stick  to  it!  Well,  pleasant 
dreams,"  he  added  as  he  went  out. 

As  the  door  closed  the  woman  stood  looking  at  it,  a 
sneer  curving  her  lips. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

WHEREIN  A   WOMAN   LIES 

1  \  REN'T  you  going  to  welcome  me,  dearie?" 
jt\.  From  the  porch  of  the  Bar  B  ranchhouse  Ros 
alind  had  watched  the  rapid  approach  of  the  buckboard, 
and  she  now  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  step  leading  to 
the  porch,  not  more  than  ten  or  fifteen  feet  distant  from 
the  vehicle,  shocked  into  dumb  amazement. 

"Why,  yes  —  of  course.  That  is —  Why,  what 
on  earth  brought  you  out  here?" 

"A  perfectly  good  train  —  as  far  as  your  awfully 
crude  town  of  Manti;  and  this  —  er  —  spring-legged 
thing,  the  rest  of  the  way,"  laughed  Hester  Harvey. 
She  had  stepped  down,  a  trifle  flushed,  inwardly  amused, 
outwardly  embarrassed  —  which  was  very  good  acting; 
but  looking  very  attractive  and  girlish  in  the  simple 
dress  she  had  donned  for  the  occasion  —  and  for  the 
purpose  of  making  a  good  impression.  So  attractive 
was  she  that  the  contemplation  of  her  brought  a  sink 
ing  sensation  to  Rosalind  that  drooped  her  shoulders, 
and  caused  her  to  look  around,  involuntarily,  for  some 
thing  to  lean  upon.  For  there  flashed  into  her  mind  at 
this  instant  the  conviction  that  she  had  herself  to  blame 
for  this  visitation  —  she  had  written  to  Ruth  Gresham, 
and  Ruth  very  likely  had  disseminated  the  news,  after 


152  "FIREBRAND"  TREVISON 

the  manner  of  all  secrets,  and  Hester  had  heard  it. 
And  of  course  the  attraction  was  "  Brand  "  Trevison !  A 
new  emotion  surged  through  Rosalind  at  this  thought, 
an  emotion  so  strong  that  it  made  her  gasp  —  jealousy! 

She  got  through  the  ordeal  somehow  —  with  an 
appearance  of  pleasure  —  though  it  was  hard  for  her 
to  play  the  hypocrite !  But  so  soon  as  she  decently 
could,  without  cutting  short  the  inevitable  inconsequen 
tial  chatter  which  fills  the  first  moments  of  renewed 
friendships,  she  hurried  Hester  to  a  room  and  during 
her  absence  sat  immovable  in  her  chair  on  the  porch 
staring  stonily  out  at  the  plains. 

It  was  not  until  half  an  hour  later,  when  they  were 
sitting  on  the  porch,  that  Hester  delivered  the  stroke 
that  caused  Rosalind's  hands  to  fall  nervelessly  into  her 
lap,  her  lips  to  quiver  and  her  eyes  to  fill  with  a  reflec 
tion  of  a  pain  that  gripped  her  hard,  somewhere  inside. 
For  Hester  had  devised  her  method,  as  suggested  by 
Corrigan. 

"It  may  seem  odd  to  you  —  if  you  know  anything 
of  the  manner  of  my  breaking  off  with  Trevison  Bran 
don —  but  he  wrote  me  about  a  month  ago,  asking  me 
to  come  out  here.  I  didn't  accept  the  invitation  at 
once  —  because  I  didn't  want  him  to  be  too  sure,  you 
know,  dearie.  Men  are  always  presuming  and  pursu 
ing,  dearie." 

"Then  you  didn't  hear  of  Trevison's  whereabouts 
from  Ruth  Gresham?" 

"Why,  no,  dearie!     He  wrote  directly  to  me." 

Rosalind  hadn't  that  to  reproach  herself  with,  at 
any  rate ! 


WHEREIN  A  WOMAN  LIES  153 

"  Of  course,  I  couldn't  go  to  his  ranch  —  the  Diamond 
K,  isn't  it?  —  so,  noting  from  one  of  the  newspapers 
that  you  had  come  here,  I  decided  to  take  advan 
tage  of  your  hospitality.  I'm  just  wild  to  see  the  dear 
boy!  Is  his  ranch  far?  For  you  know,"  she  added, 
with  a  malicious  look  at  the  girl's  pale  face;  "I  must 
not  keep  him  waiting,  now  that  I  am  here." 

"  You  won't  find  him  prosperous."  It  hurt  Rosalind 
to  say  that,  but  the  hurt  was  slightly  offset  by  a  sav 
age  resentment  that  gripped  her  when  she  thought  of 
how  quickly  Hester  had  thrown  Trevison  over  when 
she  had  discovered  that  he  was  penniless.  And  she 
had  a  desperate  hope  that  the  dismal  aspect  of  Trevi- 
son's  future  would  appall  Hester  —  as  it  would  were 
the  woman  still  the  mercenary  creature  she  had  been 
ten  years  before.  But  Hester  looked  at  her  with  grave 
imperturbability. 

"  I  heard  something  about  his  trouble.  About  some 
land,  isn't  it?  I  didn't  learn  the  particulars.  Tell  me 
about  it  —  won't  you,  dearie?" 

Rosalind's  story  of  Trevison's  difficulties  did  not 
have  the  effect  that  she  anticipated. 

"The  poor,  dear  boy!"  said  Hester  —  and  she 
seemed  genuinely  moved.  Rosalind  gulped  hard  over 
the  shattered  ruins  of  this  last  hope  and  got  up,  fight 
ing  against  an  inhospitable  impulse  to  order  Hester 
away.  She  made  some  slight  excuse  and  slipped  to  her 
room,  where  she  stayed  long,  elemental  passions  bat 
tling  riotously  within  her. 

She  realized  now  how  completely  she  had  yielded  to 
the  spell  that  the  magnetic  and  impetuous  exile  had 


154  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

woven  about  her;  she  knew  now  that  had  he  pressed 
her  that  day  when  he  had  told  her  of  his  love  for  her 
she  must  have  surrendered.  She  thought,  darkly,  of 
his  fiery  manner  that  day,  of  his  burning  looks,  his  hot, 
impulsive  words,  of  his  confidences.  Hypocrisy  all! 
For  while  they  had  been  together  he  must  have  been 
thinking  of  sending  for  Hester!  He  had  been  trifling 
with  her !  Faith  in  an  ideal  is  a  sacred  thing,  and  shat 
tered,  it  lights  the  fires  of  hate  and  scorn,  and  the  emo 
tions  that  seethed  through  Rosalind's  veins  as  in  her 
room  she  considered  Trevison's  unworthiness,  finally 
developed  into  a  furious  vindictiveness.  She  wished 
dire,  frightful  calamities  upon  him,  and  then,  swiftly 
reacting,  her  sympathetical  womanliness  forced  the 
dark  passions  back,  and  she  threw  herself  on  the  bed, 
sobbing,  murmuring:  "Forgive  me!" 

Later,  when  she  had  made  herself  presentable,  she 
went  downstairs  again,  concealing  her  misery  behind 
a  steady  courtesy  and  a  smile  that  sometimes  was  a 
little  forced  and  bitter,  to  entertain  her  guest.  It  was 
a  long,  tiresome  day,  made  almost  unbearable  by  Hes 
ter's  small  talk.  But  she  got  through  it.  And  when, 
rather  late  in  the  afternoon,  Hester  inquired  the  way 
to  the  Diamond  K,  announcing  her  intention  of  visit 
ing  Trevison  immediately,  she  gave  no  evidence  of  the 
shocked  surprise  that  seized  her.  She  coolly  helped 
Hester  prepare  for  the  trip,  and  when  she  drove  away 
in  the  buckboard,  stood  on  the  ground  at  the  edge  of 
the  porch,  watching  as  the  buckboard  and  its  occupant 
faded  into  the  shimmering  haze  of  the  plains. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

JUSTICE  VS.  LAW 

IMPATIENCE,  intolerable  and  vicious,  gripped 
Trevison  as  he  rode  homeward  after  his  haunting 
vigil  at  Manti.  The  law  seemed  to  him  to  be  like 
a  house  with  many  doors,  around  and  through  which 
one  could  play  hide  and  seek  indefinitely,  with  no  pos 
sibility  of  finding  one  of  the  doors  locked.  Judge 
Graney  had  warned  him  to  be  cautious,  but  as  he  rode 
into  the  dusk  of  the  plains  the  spirit  of  rebellion  seized 
him.  Twice  he  halted  Nigger  and  wheeled  him,  facing 
Manti,  already  agleam  and  tumultuous,  almost  yielding 
to  his  yearning  to  return  and  force  his  enemy  to  some 
sort  of  physical  action,  but  each  time  he  urged  the  horse 
on,  for  he  could  think  of  no  definite  plan.  He  was 
half  way  to  the  Diamond  K  when  he  suddenly  started 
and  sat  rigid  and  erect  in  the  saddle,  drawing  a  deep 
breath,  his  nerves  tingling  from  excitement.  He 
laughed  lowly,  exultingly,  as  men  laugh  when  under 
the  stress  of  adversity  they  devise  sudden,  bold  plans 
of  action,  and  responding  to  the  slight  knee  press  Nig 
ger  turned,  reared,  and  then  shot  like  a  black  bolt 
across  the  plains  at  an  angle  that  would  not  take  him 
anywhere  near  the  Diamond  K. 

Half  an  hour  later,  in  a  darkness  which  equaled  that 

155 


156  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

of  the  night  on  which  he  had  carried  the  limp  and  drink- 
saturated  Clay  Levins  to  his  wife,  Trevison  was  dis 
mounting  at  the  door  of  the  gun-man's  cabin.  A  little 
later,  standing  in  the  glare  of  lamplight  that  shone 
through  the  open  doorway,  he  was  reassuring  Mrs. 
Levins  and  asking  for  her  husband.  Shortly  after 
ward,  he  was  talking  lowly  to  Levins  as  the  latter 
saddled  his  pony  out  at  the  stable. 

"Til  do  it — for  you,"  Levins  told  him.  And  then 
he  chuckled.  "It'll  seem  like  old  times." 

ult's  Justice  versus  Law,  tonight,"  laughed  Trevi 
son;  "it's  a  case  of  'the  end  justifying  the  means." 

Manti  never  slept.  At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning 
the  lights  in  the  gambling  rooms  of  the  Belmont  and 
the  Plaza  were  still  flickering  streams  out  into  the  des 
ert  night;  weak  strains  of  discord  were  being  drummed 
out  of  a  piano  in  a  dance  hall;  the  shuffling  of  feet 
smote  the  dead,  flat  silence  of  the  night  with  an  odd, 
weird  resonance.  Here  and  there  a  light  burned  in 
a  dwelling  or  store,  or  shone  through  the  wall  of  a  tent- 
house.  But  Manti's  one  street  was  deserted  —  the  only 
peace  that  Manti  ever  knew,  had  descended. 

Two  men  who  had  dismounted  at  the  edge  of  town 
had  hitched  their  horses  in  the  shadow  of  a  wagon 
shed  in  the  rear  of  a  store  building,  and  were  making 
their  way  cautiously  down  the  railroad  tracks  toward 
the  center  of  town.  They  kept  in  the  shadows  of  the 
buildings  as  much  as  possible  —  for  space  was  val 
uable  now  and  many  buildings  nuzzled  the  railroad 
tracks;  but  when  once  they  were  forced  to  pass  through 


JUSTICE  PS.  LAW 157 

a  light  from  a  window  their  faces  were  revealed  in  it 
for  an  instant  —  set,  grim  and  determined. 

"We've  got  to  move  quickly,"  said  one  of  the  men 
as  they  neared  the  courthouse ;  "  it  will  be  daylight  soon. 
Damn  a  town  that  never  sleeps ! " 

The  other  laughed  lowly.  "  I've  said  the  same  thing, 
often,"  he  whispered.  "  Easy  now — here  we  are !  " 

They  paused  in  the  shadow  of  the  building  and  whis 
pered  together  briefly.  A  sound  reached  their  ears 
as  they  stood.  Peering  around  the  corner  nearest  them 
they  saw  the  bulk  of  a  man  appear.  He  walked  almost 
to  the  corner  of  the  building  where  they  crouched,  and 
they  held  their  breath,  tensing  their  muscles.  Just  when 
it  seemed  they  must  be  discovered,  the  man  wheeled, 
walked  -away,  and  vanished  into  the  darkness  toward 
the  other  side  of  the  building.  Presently  he  returned, 
and  repeated  the  maneuver.  As  he  vanished  the  sec 
ond  time,  the  larger  man  of  the  two  in  wait,  whispered 
to  the  other: 

"He's  the  sentry!  Stand  where  you  are  —  I'll  show 
Corrigan  —  " 

The  words  were  cut  short  by  the  reappearance  of  the 
sentry.  He  came  close  to  the  corner,  and  wheeled,  to 
return.  A  lithe  black  shape  leaped  like  a  huge  cat, 
and  landed  heavily  on  the  sentry's  shoulders,  bringing 
a  pained  grunt  from  him.  The  grunt  died  in  a  gurgle 
as  iron  fingers  closed  on  his  throat;  he  was  jammed, 
face  down,  into  the  dust  and  held  there,  smothering, 
until  his  body  slacked  and  his  muscles  ceased  rippling. 
Then  a  handkerchief  was  slipped  around  his  mouth 
and  drawn  tightly.  He  was  rolled  over,  still  uncon- 


158  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

scious,  his  hands  tied  behind  him.  Then  he  was  borne 
away  into  the  darkness  by  the  big  man,  who  carried 
him  as  though  he  were  a  child. 

"Locked  in  a  box-car,"  whispered  the  big  man,  re 
turning:  u They'll  get  him;  they're  half  unloaded." 

Without  further  words  they  returned  to  the  shadow 
of  the  building. 

Judge  Lindman  had  not  been  able  to  sleep  until  long 
after  his  usual  hour  for  retiring.  The  noise,  and  cer 
tain  thoughts,  troubled  him.  It  was  after  midnight 
when  he  finally  sought  his  cot,  and  he  was  in  a  heavy 
doze  until  shortly  after  two,  when  a  breath  of  air, 
chilled  by  its  clean  sweep  over  the  plains,  searched  him 
out  and  brought  him  up,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  cot, 
shivering. 

The  rear  door  of  the  courthouse  was  open.  In  front 
of  the  iron  safe  at  the  rear  of  the  room  he  saw  a  man, 
faintly  but  unmistakably  outlined  in  the  cross  light  from 
two  windows.  He  was  about  to  cry  out  when  his  throat 
was  seized  from  behind  and  he  was  borne  back  on  the 
cot  resistlessly.  Held  thus,  a  voice  which  made  him 
strain  his  eyes  in  an  effort  to  see  thelowner's  face,  hissed 
in  his  ear: 

"I  don't  want  to  kill  you,  but  I'll  do  it  if  you  cry 
out !  I  mean  business !  Do  you  promise  not  to  betray 
us?" 

The  Judge  wagged  his  head  weakly,  and  the  grip 
on  his  throat  relaxed.  He  sat  up,  aware  that  the  fin 
gers  were  ready  to  grip  his  throat  again,  for  he  could 
feel  the  big  shape  lingering  beside  him. 


JUSTICE  VS.  LAW  159 

"This  is  an  outrage!"  he  gasped,  shuddering.  "I 
know  you  —  you  are  Trevison.  I  shall  have  you  pun 
ished  for  this." 

The  other  laughed  lowly  and  vibrantly.  "  That's 
your  affair  —  if  you  dare!  You  say  a  word  about  this 
visit  and  I'll  feed  your  scoundrelly  old  carcass  to  the 
coyotes !  Justice  is  abroad  tonight  and  it  won't  be 
balked.  I'm  after  that  original  land  record  —  and  I'm 
going  to  have  it.  You  know  where  it  is  —  you've  got 
it.  Your  face  told  me  that  the  other  day.  You're  only 
half-heartedly  in  this  steal.  Be  a  man  —  give  me  the 
record — and  I'll  stand  by  you  until  hell  freezes  over! 
Quick!  Is  it  in  the  safe?" 

The  Judge  wavered  in  agonized  indecision.  But 
thoughts  of  Corrigan's  wrath  finally  conquered. 

"  It  —  it  isn't  in  the  safe,"  he  said.  And  then,  aware 
of  his  error  because  of  the  shrill  breath  the  other  drew, 
he  added,  quaveringly:  "There  is  no  —  the  original 
record  is  in  my  desk  —  you've  seen  it." 

"Bah!"  The  big  shape  backed  away — two  or 
three  feet,  whispering  back  at  the  Judge.  "  Open  your 
mouth  and  you're  a  dead  man.  I've  got  you  covered !  " 

Cowering  on  his  cot  the  Judge  watched  the  big  shape 
join  the  other  at  the  safe.  How  long  it  remained  there, 
he  did  not  know.  A  step  sounded  in  the  silence  that 
reigned  outside  —  a  third  shape  loomed  in  the  door 
way. 

"Judge  Lindman!"  called  a  voice. 

"Y-es?"  quavered  the  Judge,  aware  that  the  big 
shape  in  the  room  was  now  close  to  him,  menacing  him. 

"Your  door's  open!    Where's  Ed?    There's  some- 


i6o  "FIREBRAND"   TREVISON 

thing  wrong!  Get  up  and  strike  a  light.  There'll  be 
hell  to  pay  if  Corrigan  finds  out  we  haven't  been  watch 
ing  your  stuff.  Damn  it !  A  man  can't  steal  time  for 
a  drink  without  something  happens.  Jim  and  Bill 
and  me  just  went  across  the  street,  leaving  Ed  here. 
They're  coming  right  —  " 

He  had  been  entering  the  room  while  talking,  finger 
ing  in  his  pockets  for  a  match.  His  voice  died  in  a 
quick  gasp  as  Trevison  struck  with  the  butt  of  his 
pistol.  The  man  fell,  silently. 

Another  voice  sounded  outside.  Trevison  crouched 
at  the  doorway.  A  form  darkened  the  opening.  Trev 
ison  struck,  missed,  a  streak  of  fire  split  the  night  —  the 
newcomer  had  used  his  pistol.  It  went  off  again  —  the 
flame-spurt  shooting  ceilingward,  as  Levins  clinched 
the  man  from  the  rear.  A  third  man  loomed  in  the 
doorway;  a  fourth  appeared,  behind  him.  Trevison 
swung  at  the  head  of  the  man  nearest  him,  driving 
him  back  upon  the  man  behind,  who  cursed,  plunging 
into  the  room.  The  man  whom  Levins  had  seized  was 
shouting  orders  to  the  others.  But  these  suddenly 
ceased  as  Levins  smashed  him  on  the  head  with  the 
butt  of  a  pistol.  Two  others  remained.  They  were 
stubborn  and  courageous.  But  it  was  miserable  work, 
in  the  dark  —  blows  were  misdirected,  friend  striking 
friend;  other  blows  went  wild,  grunts  of  rage  and 
impotent  curses  following.  But  Trevison  and  Levins 
were  intent  on  escaping  —  a  victory  would  have  been 
hollow  —  for  the  thud  and  jar  of  their  boots  on  the 
bare  floor  had  been  heard;  doors  were  slamming;  from 
across  the  street  came  the  barking  of  a  dog;  men  were 


JUSTICE  FS.  LAW 161 

shouting  questions  at  one  another;  from  the  box-car 
on  the  railroad  tracks  issued  vociferous  yells  and  curses. 
Trevison  slipped  out  through  the  door,  panting.  His 
opponent  had  gone  down,  temporarily  disabled  from 
sundry  vicious  blows  from  a  fist  that  had  worked  like 
a  piston  rod.  A  figure  loomed  at  his  side.  UI  got 
mine!"  it  said,  triumphantly;  "we'd  better  slope." 

"Another  five  minutes  and  I'd  have  cracked  it," 
breathed  Levins  as  they  ran.  "  What's  Corrigan  havin' 
the  place  watched  for?" 

"  You've  got  me.  Afraid  of  the  Judge,  maybe.  The 
Judge  hasn't  his  whole  soul  in  this  deal;  it  looks  to  me 
as  though  Corrigan  is  forcing  him.  But  the  Judge  has 
the  original  record,  all  right;  and  it's  in  that  safe,  too! 
God !  If  they'd  only  given  us  a  minute  or  two  longer !  " 

They  fled  down  the  track,  running  heavily,  for  the 
work  had  been  fast  and  the  tension  great,  and  when 
they  reached  the  horses  and  threw  themselves  into  the 
saddles,  Manti  was  ablaze  with  light.  As  they  raced 
away  in  the  darkness  a  grim  smile  wreathed  Trevi- 
son's  face.  For  though  he  had  not  succeeded  in  this 
enterprise,  he  had  at  least  struck  a  blow  —  and  he  had 
corroborated  his  previous  opinion  concerning  Judge 
Lindman's  knowledge  of  the  whereabouts  of  the  orig 
inal  record. 

It  was  three  o'clock  and  the  dawn  was  just  breaking 
when  Trevison  rode  into  the  Diamond  K  corral  and 
pulled  the  saddle  from  Nigger.  Levins  had  gone 
home. 

Trevison  was   disappointed.      It  had  been   a   bold 


1 62  "FIREBRAND"  TREF18ON 

scheme,  and  well  planned,  and  it  would  have  succeeded 
had  it  not  been  for  the  presence  of  the  sentries.  He 
had  not  anticipated  that.  He  laughed  grimly,  remem 
bering  Judge  Lindman's  fright.  Would  the  Judge 
reveal  the  identity  of  his  early-morning  visitor?  Trevi- 
son  thought  not,  for  if  the  original  record  were  in  the 
safe,  and  if  for  any  reason  the  Judge  wished  to  con 
ceal  its  existence  from  Corrigan,  a  hint  of  the  identity 
of  the  early-morning  visitors  —  especially  of  one  — 
might  arouse  Corrigan's  suspicions. 

But  what  if  Corrigan  knew  of  the  existence  of  the 
original  record?  There  was  the  presence  of  the  guards 
to  indicate  that  he  did.  But  there  was  Judge  Lind 
man's  half-heartedness  to  disprove  that  line  of  reason 
ing.  Also,  Trevison  was  convinced  that  if  Corrigan 
knew  of  the  existence  of  the  record  he  would  destroy 
it;  it  would  be  dangerous,  in  the  hands  of  an  enemy. 
But  it  would  be  an  admirable  weapon  of  self-protection 
in  the  hands  of  a  man  who  had  been  forced  into  wrong 
doing —  in  the  hands  of  Judge  Lindman,  for  instance. 
Trevison  opened  the  door  that  led  to  his  office,  thrill 
ing  with  a  new  hope.  He  lit  a  match,  stepped  across 
the  floor  and  touched  the  flame  to  the  wick  of  the  kero 
sene  lamp  —  for  it  was  not  yet  light  enough  for  him 
to  see  plainly  in  the  office  —  and  stood  for  an  instant 
blinking  in  its  glare.  A  second  later  he  reeled  back 
against  the  edge  of  the  desk,  his  hands  gripping  it, 
dumb,  amazed,  physically  sick  with  a  fear  that  he  had 
suddenly  gone  insane.  For  in  a  big  chair  in  a  corner  of 
the  room,  sleepy-eyed,  tired,  but  looking  very  becom 
ing  in  her  simple  dress  with  a  light  cloak  over  it,  the 


JUSTICE  FS.  LAW 163 

collar  turned  up,  so  that  it  gave  her  an  appearance  of 
attractive  negligence,  a  smile  of  delighted  welcome  on 
her  face,  was  Hester  Harvey. 

She  got  up  as  he  stood  staring  dumfoundedly  at  her 
and  moved  toward  him,  with  an  air  of  artful  supplica 
tion  that  brought  a  gasp  out  of  him  —  of  sheer  relief. 

"Won't  you  welcome  me,  Trev?  I  have  come  very 
far,  to  see  you."  She  held  out  her  hands  and  went 
slowly  toward  him,  mutely  pleading,  her  eyes  luminous 
with  love  —  which  she  did  not  pretend,  for  the  boy 
she  had  known  had  grown  into  the  promise  of  his  youth 
• — big,  magnetic  —  a  figure  for  any  woman  to  love. 

He  had  been  looking  at  her  intently,  narrowly,  search- 
ingly.  He  saw  what  she  herself  had  not  seen  —  the 
natural  changes  that  ten  years  had  brought  to  her.  He 
saw  other  things  —  that  she  had  not  suspected  —  a  cer 
tain  blase  sophistication;  a  too  bold  and  artful  expres 
sion  of  the  eyes  —  as  though  she  knew  their  power 
and  the  lure  of  them;  the  slightly  hard  curve  in  the 
corners  of  her  mouth;  a  second  character  lurking 
around  her — indefinite,  vague,  repelling  —  the  subcon 
scious  self,  that  no  artifice  can  hide  —  the  sin  and  the 
shame  of  deeds  unrepented.  If  there  had  been  a  time 
when  he  had  loved  her,  its  potence  could  not  leap  the 
lapse  of  years  and  overcome  his  repugnance  for  her 
kind,  and  he  looked  at  her  coldly,  barring  her  progress 
with  a  hand,  which  caught  her  two  and  held  them  in 
a  grip  that  made  her  wince. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?  How  did  you  get  in? 
When  did  you  come?"  He  fired  the  questions  at  her 
roughly,  brutally. 


1 64  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

"  Why,  Trev."  She  gulped,  her  smile  fading  palely. 
The  conquest  was  not  to  be  the  easy  one  she  had  thought 
—  though  she  really  wanted  him  —  more  than  ever, 
now  that  she  saw  she  was  in  danger  of  losing  him. 
She  explained,  earnestly  pleading  with  eyes  that  had 
lost  their  power  to  charm  him. 

"I  heard  you  were  here  —  that  you  were  in  trouble. 
I  want  to  help  you.  I  got  here  night  before  last  —  to 
Manti.  Rosalind  Benham  had  written  about  you  to 
Ruth  Gresham  —  a  friend  of  hers  in  New  York.  Ruth 
Gresham  told  me.  I  went  directly  from  Manti  to 
Benham's  ranch.  Then  I  came  here  —  about  dusk,  last 
night.  There  was  a  man  here  —  your  foreman,  he 
said.  I  explained,  and  he  let  me  in.  Trev  —  won't  you 
welcome  me?" 

"It  isn't  the  first  time  I've  been  in  trouble."  His 
laugh  was  harsh;  it  made  her  cringe  and  cry: 

"I've  repented  for  that.  I  shouldn't  have  done  it; 
I  don't  know  what  was  the  matter  with  me.  Harvey 
had  been  telling  me  things  about  you  — " 

'  You  wouldn't  have  believed  him  —  "  He  laughed, 
cynically.  "There's  no  use  of  haggling  over  that — 
it's  buried,  and  I've  placed  a  monument  over  it:  'Here 
lies  a  fool  that  believed  in  a  woman.'  I  don't  reproach 
you  —  you  couldn't  be  blamed  for  not  wanting  to  marry 
an  idiot  like  me.  But  I  haven't  changed.  I  still  have 
my  crazy  ideas  of  honor  and  justice  and  square-deal 
ing,  and  my  double-riveted  faith  in  my  ability  to  tri 
umph  over  all  adversity.  But  women —  Bah!  you're 
all  alike!  You  scheme,  you  plot,  you  play  for  place; 
you  are  selfish,  cold;  you  snivel  and  whine —  There 


JUSTICE  FS.  LAW 165 

is  more  of  it,  but  I  can't  think  of  any  more.  But  —  let's 
face  this  matter  squarely.  If  you  still  like  me,  I'm 
sorry  for  you,  for  I  can't  say  that  the  sight  of  you  has 
stirred  any  old  passion  in  me.  You  shouldn't  have 
come  out  here." 

"You're  terribly  resentful,  Trev.  And  I  don't 
blame  you  a  bit  —  I  deserve  it  all.  But  don't  send 
me  away.  Why,  I  —  love  you,  Trev;  I've  loved  you 
all  these  years;  I  loved  you  when  I  sent  you  away  — 
while  I  was  married  to  Harvey;  and  more  afterwards 
—  and  now,  deeper  than  ever;  and  —  " 

He  shook  his  head  and  looked  at  her  steadily  — 
cynicism,  bald  derision  in  his  gaze.  "I'm  sorry;  but 
it  can't  be  —  you're  too  late." 

He  dropped  her  hands,  and  she  felt  of  the  fingers 
where  he  had  gripped  them.  She  veiled  the  quick, 
savage  leap  in  her  eyes  by  drooping  the  lids. 

"You  love  Rosalind  Benham,"  she  said,  quietly, 
looking  at  him  with  a  mirthless  smile.  He  started,  and 
her  lips  grew  a  trifle  stiff.  "You  poor  boy!" 

"Why  the  pity?"  he  said  grimly. 

"  Because  she  doesn't  care  for  you,  Trev.  She  told 
me  yesterday  that  she  was  engaged  to  marry  a  man 
named  Corrigan.  He  is  out  here,  she  said.  She 
remarked  that  she  had  found  you  very  amusing  dur 
ing  the  three  or  four  weeks  of  Corrigan's  absence,  and 
she  seemed  delighted  because  the  court  out  here  had 
ruled  that  the  land  you  thought  was  yours  belongs  to 
the  man  who  is  to  be  her  husband." 

He  stiffened  at  this,  for  it  corroborated  Corrigan's 
words:  "She  is  heart  and  soul  with  me  in  this  deal. 


1 66  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

She  is  ambitious."  Trevison's  lips  curled  scornfully. 
First,  Hester  Keyes  had  been  ambitious,  and  now  it 
was  Rosalind  Benham.  He  fought  off  the  bitter  resent 
ment  that  filled  him  and  raised  his  head,  laughing,  gloss 
ing  over  the  hurt  with  savage  humor. 

"Well,  I'm  doing  some  good  in  the  world,  after 
all" 

"Trev,"  Hester  moved  toward  him  again,  "don't 
talk  like  that  —  it  makes  me  shiver.  I've  been  through 
the  fire,  boy — we've  both  been  through  it.  I  wasted 
myself  on  Harvey  —  you'll  do  the  same  with  Rosalind 
Benham.  Ten  years,  boy — think  of  it!  I've  loved 
you  for  that  long.  Doesn't  that  make  you  under 
stand —  " 

"There's  nothing  quite  so  dead  as  a  love  that  a  man 
doesn't  want  to  revive,"  he  said  shortly;  "do  you 
understand  that?  " 

She  shuddered  and  paled,  and  a  long  silence  came 
between  them.  The  cold  dawn  that  was  creeping  over 
the  land  stole  into  the  office  with  them  and  found  the 
fires  of  affection  turned  to  the  ashes  of  unwelcome 
memory.  The  woman  seemed  to  realize  at  last,  for 
she  gave  a  little  shiver  and  looked  up  at  Trevison  with 
a  wan  smile. 

"I  —  I  think  I  understand,  Trev.  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry ! 
But  I  am  not  going  away.  I  am  going  to  stay  in  Manti, 
to  be  near  you  —  if  you  want  me.  And  you  will  want 
me,  some  day."  She  went  close  to  him.  "Won't  you 
kiss  me  —  once,  Trev?  For  the  sake  of  old  times?  " 

"You'd  better  go,"  he  said  gruffly,  turning  his  head. 
And  then,  as  she  opened  the  door  and  stood  upon  the 


JUSTICE  FS.  LAW 167 

threshold,  he  stepped  after  her,  saying:  "I'll  get  your 
horse." 

"There's  two  of  them,"  she  laughed  tremulously. 
"  I  came  in  a  buckboard." 

"Two,  then,"  he  said  soberly  as  he  followed  her 
out.  "And  say — "  He  turned,  flushing.  "You  came 
at  dusk,  last  night.  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  been  exactly 
thoughtful.  Wait  —  I'll  rustle  up  something  to  eat." 

"I  —  I  couldn't  touch  it,  thank  you.  Trev  —  "  She 
started  toward  him  impulsively,  but  he  turned  his  back 
grimly  and  went  toward  the  corral. 

Sunrise  found  Hester  back  at  the  Bar  B.  Jealous, 
hurt  eyes  had  watched  from  an  upstairs  window  the 
approach  of  the  buckboard  —  had  watched  the  Dia 
mond  K  trail  the  greater  part  of  the  night.  For,  know 
ing  of  the  absence  of  women  at  the  Diamond  K,  Rosa 
lind  had  anticipated  Hester's  return  the  previous 
evening  —  for  the  distance  that  separated  the  two 
ranches  was  not  more  than  two  miles.  But  the  girl's 
vigil  had  been  unrewarded  until  now.  And  when  at 
last  she  saw  the  buckboard  coming,  scorn  and  rage, 
furious  and  deep,  seized  her.  Ah,  it  was  bold,  brazen, 
disgraceful ! 

But  she  forced  herself  to  calmness  as  she  went  down 
stairs  to  greet  her  guest  —  for  there  might  have  been 
some  excuse  for  the  lapse  of  propriety  —  some  accident 
—  something,  anything. 

"  I  expected  you  last  night,"  she  said  as  she  met 
Hester  at  the  door.  "You  were  delayed  I  presume. 
Has  anything  happened?" 


1 68  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

"Nothing,  dearie."  Only  the  bold  significance  of 
Hester's  smile  hid  its  deliberate  maliciousness.  "Trev 
was  so  glad  to  see  me  that  he  simply  wouldn't  let  me 
go.  And  it  was  daylight  before  we  realized  it." 

The  girl  gasped.  And  now,  looking  at  the  woman, 
she  saw  what  Trevison  had  seen  —  staring  back  at  her, 
naked  and  repulsive.  She  shuddered,  and  her  face 
whitened. 

"  There  are  hotels  at  Manti,  Mrs.  Harvey,"  she  said 
coldly. 

"Oh,  very  well!"  The  woman  did  not  change  her 
smile.  "  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  take  advantage  of  your 
kind  invitation.  For  Trev  tells  me  that  presently  there 
will  be  much  bitterness  between  your  crowd  and  him 
self,  and  I  am  certain  that  he  wouldn't  want  me  to 
stay  here.  If  you  will  kindly  have  a  man  bring  my 
trunks  —  " 

And  so  she  rode  toward  Manti.  Not  until  the  vary 
ing  undulations  of  the  land  hid  her  from  view  of  the 
Bar  B  ranchhouse  did  she  lose  the  malicious  smile. 
Then  it  faded,  and  furious  sobs  of  disappointment  shook 
her. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

LAW  INVOKED  AND  DEFIED 

Al  SOON  as  the  deputies  had  gone,  two  of  them 
nursing  injured  heads,  and  all  exhibiting  numer 
ous  bruises,  Judge  Lindman  rose  and  dressed.  In  the 
ghostly  light  preceding  the  dawn  he  went  to  the  safe, 
his  fingers  trembling  so  that  he  made  difficult  work  with 
the  combination.  He  got  a  record  from  out  of  the 
safe,  pulled  out  the  bottom  drawer  of  a  series  filled 
with  legal  documents  and  miscellaneous  articles,  laid 
the  record  book  on  the  floor  and  shoved  the  drawer 
in  over  it.  An  hour  later  he  was  facing  Corrigan,  who 
on  getting  a  report  of  the  incident  from  one  of  the  depu 
ties,  had  hurried  to  get  the  Judge's  version.  The  Judge 
had  had  time  to  regain  his  composure,  though  he  was 
still  slightly  pale  and  nervous. 

The  Judge  lied  glibly.  He  had  seen  no  one  in  the 
courthouse.  His  first  knowledge  that  anyone  had  been 
there  had  come  when  he  had  heard  the  voice  of  one 
of  the  deputies,  calling  to  him.  And  then  all  he  had 
seen  was  a  shadowy  figure  that  had  leaped  and  struck. 
After  that  there  had  been  some  shooting.  And  then 
the  men  had  escaped. 

"No   one   spoke?" 

"  Not  a  word,"  said  the  Judge.  "  That  is,  of  course, 
no  one  but  the  man  who  called  to  me." 

169 


1 7o  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

"Did  they  take  anything?" 

"What  is  there  to  take?  There  is  nothing  of  value." 

"  Gieger  says  one  of  them  was  working  at  the  safe. 
What's  in  there?" 

"Some  books  and  papers  and  supplies  —  nothing 
of  value.  That  they  tried  to  get  into  the  safe  would 
seem  to  indicate  that  they  thought  there  was  money 
there  —  Manti  has  many  strangers  who  would  not  hesi 
tate  at  robbery." 

"They  didn't  get  into  the  safe,  then?" 

"I  haven't  looked  inside  —  nothing  seems  to  be  dis 
turbed,  as  it  would  were  the  men  safe-blowers.  In 
their  hurry  to  get  away  it  would  seem,  if  they  had  come 
to  get  into  the  safe,  they  would  have  left  something 
behind  —  tools,  or  something  of  that  character." 

"Let's  have  a  look  at  the  safe.  Open  it!"  Corri- 
gan  seemed  to  be  suspicious,  and  with  a  pulse  of  trepi 
dation,  the  Judge  knelt  and  worked  the  combination. 
When  the  door  came  open  Corrigan  dropped  on  his 
knees  in  front  of  it  and  began  to  pull  out  the  contents, 
scattering  them  in  his  eagerness.  He  stood  up  after 
a  time,  scowling,  his  face  flushed.  He  turned  on  the 
Judge,  grasped  him  by  the  shoulders,  his  fingers  grip 
ping  so  hard  that  the  Judge  winced. 

"Look  here,  Lindman,"  he  said.  "Those  men 
were  not  ordinary  robbers.  Experienced  men  would 
know  better  than  to  crack  a  safe  in  a  courthouse  when 
there's  a  bank  right  next  door.  I've  an  idea  that  it 
was  some  of  Trevison's  work.  You've  done  or  said 
something  that's  given  him  the  notion  that  you've  got 
the  original  record.  Have  you?" 


LAW  INVOKED  AND  DEFIED         171 

"I  swear  I  have  said  nothing,"  declared  the  Judge. 

Corrigan  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  moment  and 
then  released  him.  "You  burned  it,  eh?" 

The  Judge  nodded,  and  Corrigan  compressed  his 
lips.  "  I  suppose  it's  all  right,  but  I  can't  help  wishing 
that  I  had  been  here  to  watch  the  ceremony  of  burn 
ing  that  record.  I'd  feel  a  damn  sight  more  secure. 
But  understand  this :  If  you  double-cross  me  in  any 
detail  of  this  game,  you'll  never  go  to  the  penitentiary 
for  what  Benham  knows  about  you  —  I'll  choke  the 
gizzard  out  of  you!"  He  took  a  turn  around  the 
room,  stopping  at  last  in  front  of  the  Judge. 

"Now  we'll  talk  business.  I  want  you  to  issue  an 
order  permitting  me  to  erect  mining  machinery  on 
Trevison's  land.  We  need  coal  here." 

"  Graney  gave  notice  of  appeal,"  protested  the  Judge. 

"Which  the  Circuit  Court  denied." 

"He'll  go  to  Washington,"  persisted  the  Judge, 
gulping.  "  I  can't  legally  do  it." 

Corrigan  laughed.  "Appoint  a  receiver  to  operate 
the  mine,  pending  the  Supreme  Court  decision.  Ap 
point  Braman.  Graney  has  no  case,  anyway.  There 
is  no  record  or  deed." 

"There  is  no  need  of  haste,"  Lindman  cautioned; 
"you  can't  get  mining  machinery  here  for  some  time 
yet." 

Corrigan  laughed,  dragging  the  Judge  to  a  window, 
from  which  he  pointed  out  some  flat-cars  standing  on 
a  siding,  loaded  with  lumber,  machinery,  corrugated 
iron,  shutes,  cables,  trucks,  UT"  rails,  and  other  arti 
cles  that  the  Judge  did  not  recognize. 


172  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

The  Judge  exclaimed  in  astonishment.  Corrigan 
grunted. 

"  I  ordered  that  stuff  six  weeks  ago,  in  anticipation  of 
my  victory  in  your  court.  You  can  see  how  I  trusted 
in  your  honesty  and  perspicacity.  I'll  have  it  on  the 
ground  tomorrow  —  some  of  it  today.  Of  course  I 
want  to  proceed  legally,  and  in  order  to  do  that  I'll 
have  to  have  the  court  order  this  morning.  You  do 
whatever  is  necessary." 

At  daylight  he  was  in  the  laborers1  camp,  skirting 
the  railroad  at  the  edge  of  town,  looking  for  Carson. 
He  found  the  big  Irishman  in  one  of  the  larger  tent- 
houses,  talking  with  the  cook,  who  was  preparing  break 
fast  amid  a  smother  of  smoke  and  the  strong  mingled 
odors  of  frying  bacon  and  coffee.  Corrigan  went 
only  to  the  flap  of  the  tent,  motioning  Carson  outside. 

Walking  away  from  the  tent  toward  some  small 
frame  buildings  down  the  track,  Corrigan  said: 

"There  are  several  carloads  of  material  there," 
pointing  to  the  flat-cars  which  he  had  shown  to  the 
Judge.  "  I've  hired  a  mining  man  to  superintend  the 
erection  of  that  stuff  —  it's  mining  machinery  and  mate 
rial  for  buildings.  I  want  you  to  place  as  many  of 
your  men  as  you  can  spare  at  the  disposal  of  the  engi 
neer:  his  name's  Pickand,  and  you'll  find  him  at  the 
cars  at  eight  o'clock.  I'll  have  some  more  laborers  sent 
over  from  the  dam.  Give  him  as  many  men  as  he 
wants;  go  with  him  yourself,  if  he  wants  you." 

"What  are  ye  goin'  to  mine?" 

uCoal." 

"Where?" 


LAW  INVOKED  AND  DEFIED         173 

"I've  been  looking  over  the  land  with  Pickand;  he 
says  we'll  sink  a  shaft  at  the  base  of  the  butte  below 
the  mesa,  where  you  are  laying  tracks  now.  We  won't 
have  to  go  far,  Pickand  says.  There's  coal  —  thick 
veins  of  it  —  running  back  into  the  wall  of  the  butte." 

"All  right,  sir,"  said  Carson.  But  he  scratched  his 
head  in  perplexity,  eyeing  Corrigan  sidelong.  "Ye 
woudn't  be  sayin'  that  ye'll  be  diggin'  for  coal  on  the 
railroad's  right  av  way,  wud  ye?" 

"No!"  snapped  Corrigan. 

"  Thin  it  will  be  on  Trevison's  land.  Have  ye  bar 
gained  wid  him  for  it?" 

"No!  Look  here,  Carson.  Mind  your  own  busi 
ness  and  do  as  you're  told!" 

"I'm  elicted,  I  s'pose;  but  it's  a  job  I  ain't  admirin' 
to  do.  If  ye've  got  half  the  sinse  I  give  ye  credit  for 
havin',  ye'll  be  lettin'  that  mon  Trevison  alone  —  I'd 
a  lot  sooner  smoke  a  segar  in  that  shed  av  dynamite 
than  to  cross  him!  " 

Corrigan  smiled  and  turned  to  look  in  the  direction 
in  which  the  Irishman  was  pointing.  A  small,  flat- 
roofed  frame  building,  sheathed  with  corrugated  iron, 
met  his  view.  Crude  signs,  large  enough  to  be  read 
hundreds  of  feet  distant,  were  affixed  to  the  walls : 


"  CAUTION.     DYNAMITE." 


"Do  you  keep  much  of  it  there?" 
"Enough  for  anny  blastin'  we  have  to  do.     There's 
plenty  —  half  a  ton,  mebbe." 


174  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

"Who's  got  the  key?" 

"Meself." 

Corrigan  returned  to  town,  breakfasted,  mounted 
a  horse  and  rode  out  to  the  dam,  where  he  gave  orders 
for  some  laborers  to  be  sent  to  Carson.  At  nine  o'clock 
he  was  back  in  Manti  talking  with  Pickand,  and  watch 
ing  the  dinky  engine  as  it  pulled  the  loaded  flat-cars 
westward  over  the  tracks.  He  left  Pickand  and  went 
to  his  office  in  the  bank  building,  where  he  conferred 
with  some  men  regarding  various  buildings  and 
improvements  in  contemplation,  and  shortly  after  ten, 
glancing  out  of  a  window,  he  saw  a  buckboard  stop  in 
front  of  the  Castle  hotel.  Corrigan  waited  a  little, 
then  closed  his  desk  and  walked  across  the  street. 
Shortly  he  confronted  Hester  Harvey  in  her  room.  He 
saw  from  her  downcast  manner  that  she  had  failed.  His 
face  darkened. 

"Wouldn't  work,  eh?    What  did  he  say?" 

The  woman  was  hunched  down  in  her  chair,  still 
wearing  the  cloak  that  she  had  worn  in  Trevison's  office ; 
the  collar  still  up,  the  front  thrown  open.  Her  hair 
was  disheveled;  dark  lines  were  under  her  eyes;  she 
glared  at  Corrigan  in  an  abandon  of  savage  dejection. 

"He  turned  me  down  —  cold."  Her  laugh  held 
the  bitterness  of  self-derision.  "  I'm  through,  there, 
Jeff." 

"Hell!"  cursed  the  man.  She  looked  at  him,  her 
lips  curving  with  amused  contempt. 

"Oh,  you're  all  right  —  don't  worry.  That's  all 
you  care  about,  isn't  it?"  She  laughed  harshly  at  the 
quickened  light  in  his  eyes.  "You'd  see  me  sacrifice 


LAW  INVOKED  AND  DEFIED         175 

myself;  you  wouldn't  give  me  a  word  of  sympathy. 
That's  you !  That's  the  way  of  all  men.  Give,  give, 
give!  That's  the  masculine  chorus  —  the  hunting-song 
of  the  human  wolf-pack!  " 

"Don't  talk  like  that  —  it  ain't  like  you,  kid.  You 
were  always  the  gamest  little  dame  I  ever  knew."  He 
essayed  to  take  the  hand  that  was  twisted  in  the  folds 
of  her  cloak,  but  she  drew  it  away  from  him  in  a  fury. 
And  the  eagerness  in  his  eyes  betrayed  the  insincer 
ity  of  his  attempt  at  consolation;  she  saw  it  —  the 
naked  selfishness  of  his  look — and  sneered  at  him. 

"You  want  the  good  news,  eh?  The  good  for  you? 
That's  all  you  care  about.  After  you  get  it,  I'll  get 
the  husks  of  your  pity.  Well,  here  it  is.  I've  poisoned 
them  both  —  against  each  other.  I  told  him  she  was 
against  him  in  this  land  business.  And  it  hurt  me  to 
see  how  gamely  he  took  it,  Jeff ! "  her  voice  broke,  but 
she  choked  back  the  sob  and  went  on,  hoarsely:  "He 
didn't  make  a  whimper.  Not  even  when  I  told  him 
you  were  going  to  marry  her  —  that  you  were  engaged. 
But  there  was  a  fire  in  those  eyes  of  his  that  I  would 
give  my  soul  to  see  there  for  me! " 

"Yes  —  yes,"  said  the  man,  impatiently. 

"Oh,  you  devil!"  she  railed  at  him.  "I've  made 
him  think  it  was  a  frame-up  between  you  and  her  — 
to  get  information  out  of  him;  I  told  him  that  she 
had  strung  him  along  for  a  month  or  so  —  amusing 
herself.  And  he  believes  it." 

"Good!" 

"And  I've  made  her  believe  that  he  sent  for  me," 
she  went  on,  her  voice  leaping  to  cold  savagery.  "I 


176  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

stayed  all  night  at  his  place,  and  I  went  back  to  the  Bar 
B  in  the  morning — this  morning  —  and  made  Rosa 
lind  Benham  think — Ha,  ha!  She  ordered  me  away 
from  the  house  —  the  hussy!  She's  through  with  him 
—  any  fool  could  tell  that.  But  it's  different  with  him, 
Jeff.  He  won't  give  her  up;  he  isn't  that  kind.  He'll 
fight  for  her  — and  he'll  have  her!  " 

The  eager,  pleased  light  died  out  of  Corrigan's  face, 
his  lips  set  in  an  ugly  pout.  But  he  contrived  to  smile 
as  he  got  up. 

"  You've  done  well  —  so  far.  But  don't  give  him  up. 
Maybe  he'll  change  his  mind.  Stay  here  —  I'll  stake 
you  to  the  limit."  He  laid  a  roll  of  bills  on  a  stand  — 
she  did  not  look  at  them  —  and  approached  her  in  a 
second  endeavor  to  console  her.  But  she  waved  him 
away,  saying:  "Get  out  of  here  —  I  want  to  think!" 
And  he  obeyed,  looking  back  before  he  closed  the  door. 

"Selfish?"  he  muttered,  going  down  the  street. 
"Well,  what  of  it?  That's  a  human  weakness,  isn't 
it  ?  Get  what  you  want,  and  to  hell  with  other  people !  " 

Trevison  had  gone  to  his  room  for  a  much-needed 
rest.  He  had  watched  Hester  Harvey  go  with  no  con 
scious  regret,  but  with  a  certain  grim  pity,  which  was 
as  futile  as  her  visit.  But,  lying  on  the  bed  he  fought 
hard  against  the  bitter  scorn  that  raged  in  him  over 
the  contemplation  of  Rosalind  Benham's  duplicity.  He 
found  it  hard  to  believe  that  she  had  been  duping  him, 
for  during  the  weeks  of  his  acquaintance  with  her  he 
had  studied  her  much  —  with  admiration-weighted 
prejudice,  of  course,  since  she  made  a  strong  appeal 


LAW  INVOKED  AND  DEFIED         177 

to  him  —  and  he  had  been  certain,  then,  that  she  was 
as  free  from  guile  as  a  child  —  excepting  any  girl's 
natural  artifices  by  which  she  concealed  certain  emo 
tions  that  men  had  no  business  trying  to  read.  He  had 
read  some  of  them  —  his  business  or  not  —  and  he  had 
imagined  he  had  seen  what  had  fired  his  blood — a 
reciprocal  affection.  He  would  not  have  declared  him 
self,  otherwise. 

He  went  to  sleep,  thinking  of  her.  He  awoke  about 
noon,  to  see  Barkwell  standing  at  his  side,  shaking  him. 

"  Have  you  got  any  understandin'  with  that  railroad 
gang  that  they're  to  do  any  minin'  on  the  Diamond  K 
range?" 

"No." 

"Well,  they're  gettin'  ready  to  do  it.  Over  at  the 
butte  near  the  railroad  cut.  I  passed  there  a  while  ago 
an'  quizzed  the  big  guy  —  Corrigan  —  about  a  gang 
workin'  there.  He  says  they're  goin'  to  mine  coal. 
I  asked  him  if  he  had  your  permission  an'  he  said  he 
didn't  need  it.  I  reckon  they  ain't  none  shy  on  gall 
where  that  guy  come  from !  " 

Trevison  got  out  of  bed  and  buckled  on  his  cart 
ridge  belt  and  pistol.  "  The  boys  are  working  the  Wil 
low  Creek  range,"  he  said,  sharply.  "Get  them,  tell 
them  to  load  up  with  plenty  of  cartridges,  and  join  me 
at  the  butte." 

He  heard  Barkwell  go  leaping  down  the  stairs,  his 
spurs  striking  the  step  edges,  and  a  few  minutes  later, 
riding  Nigger  out  of  the  corral  he  saw  the  foreman 
racing  away  in  a  dust  cloud.  He  followed  the  bed  of 
the  river,  himself,  going  at  a  slow  lope,  for  he  wanted 


178  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

time  to  think  —  to  gain  control  of  the  rage  that  boiled 
in  his  veins.  He  conquered  it,  and  when  he  came  in 
sight  of  the  butte  he  was  cool  and  deliberate,  though 
on  his  face  was  that  "mean"  look  that  Carson  had 
once  remarked  about  to  his  friend  Murphy,  partly  hid 
den  by  the  "  tiger  "  smile  which,  the  Irishman  had  dis 
covered,  preceded  action,  ruthless  and  swift. 

The  level  below  the  butte  was  a-buzz  with  life  and 
energy.  Scores  of  laborers  were  rushing  about  under 
the  direction  of  a  tall,  thin,  bespectacled  man  who 
seemed  to  be  the  moving  spirit  in  all  the  activity.  He 
shouted  orders  to  Carson  —  Trevison  saw  the  big  figure 
of  the  Irishman  dominating  the  laborers  —  who 
repeated  them,  added  to  them;  sending  men  scamper 
ing  hither  and  thither.  Pausing  at  a  little  distance 
down  the  level,  Trevison  watched  the  scene.  At  first 
all  seemed  confusion,  but  presently  he  was  able  to 
discern  that  method  ruled.  For  he  now  observed  that 
the  laborers  were  divided  into  "  gangs."  Some  were 
unloading  the  flat-cars,  others  were  "assembling"  a 
stationary  engine  near  the  wall  of  the  butte.  They  had 
a  roof  over  it,  already.  Others  were  laying  tracks  that 
intersected  with  the  main  line;  still  others  were  erect 
ing  buildings  along  the  level.  They  were  on  Trev- 
ison's  land  —  there  was  no  doubt  of  that.  Moreover, 
they  were  erecting  their  buildings  and  apparatus  at  the 
point  where  Trevison  himself  had  contemplated  mak 
ing  a  start.  He  saw  Corrigan  seated  on  a  box  on  one 
of  the  flat-cars,  smoking  a  cigar;  another  man,  whom 
Trevison  recognized  as  Gieger  —  he  would  have  been 
willing  to  swear  the  man  was  one  of  those  who  had 


LAW  INVOKED  AND  DEFIED         179 

thwarted  his  plans  in  the  courthouse  —  standing  beside 
him,  a  Winchester  rifle  resting  in  the  hollow  of  his  left 
arm.  Trevison  urged  Nigger  along  the  level,  down 
the  track,  and  halted  near  Corrigan  and  Gieger.  He 
knew  that  Corrigan  had  seen  him,  but  it  pleased  the 
other  to  pretend  that  he  had  not. 

"This  is  your  work,  Corrigan  —  I  take  it?"  said 
Trevison,  bluntly. 

Corrigan  turned  slowly.  He  was  a  good  actor,  for 
he  succeeded  in  getting  a  fairly  convincing  counterfeit 
of  surprise  into  his  face  as  his  gaze  fell  on  his  enemy. 

"You  have  taken  it  correctly,  sir."  He  smiled 
blandly,  though  there  was  a  snapping  alertness  in  his 
eyes  that  belied  his  apparent  calmness.  He  turned  to 
Gieger,  ignoring  Trevison.  "Organization  is  the 
thing.  Pickand  is  a  genius  at  it,"  he  said. 

Trevison's  eyes  flamed  with  rage  over  this  deliberate 
insult.  But  in  it  he  saw  a  cold  design  to  make  him  lose 
his  temper.  The  knowledge  brought  a  t\visting  smile  to 
his  face. 

"You  have  permission  to  begin  this  work,  I  sup 
pose?" 

Corrigan  turned  again,  as  though  astonished  at  the 
persistence  of  the  other.  "  Certainly,  sir.  This  work 
is  being  done  under  a  court  order,  issued  this  morning. 
I  applied  for  it  yesterday.  I  am  well  within  my  legal 
rights,  the  court  having  as  you  are  aware,  settled  the 
question  of  the  title." 

"  You  know  I  have  appealed  the  case?" 

"  I  have  not  been  informed  that  you  have  done  so. 
In  any  event  such  an  appeal  would  not  prevent  me  min- 


i8o  "FIREBRAND"  TREVISON 

ing  the  coal  on  the  property,  pending  the  hearing  of 
the  case  in  the  higher  court.  Judge  Lindman  has  ap 
pointed  a  receiver,  who  is  bonded;  and  the  work  is  to 
proceed  under  his  direction.  I  am  here  merely  as  an 
onlooker." 

He  looked  fairly  at  Trevison,  his  eyes  gleaming 
with  cold  derision.  The  expression  maddened  the  other 
beyond  endurance,  and  his  eyes  danced  the  chill  glitter 
of  meditated  violence,  unrecking  consequences. 

"You're  a  sneaking  crook,  Corrigan,  and  you  know 
it!  You're  going  too  far!  You've  had  Braman  ap 
pointed  in  order  to  escape  the  responsibility!  You're 
hiding  behind  him  like  a  coward!  Come  out  into  the 
open  and  fight  like  a  man  1 " 

Corrigan's  face  bloated  poisonously,  but  he  made 
no  hostile  move.  "I'll  kill  you  for  that  some  day!" 
he  whispered.  "  Not  now,"  he  laughed  mirthlessly  as 
the  other  stiffened;  "I  can't  take  the  risk  right  now  — 
I've  too  much  depending  on  me.  But  you've  been 
damned  impertinent  and  troublesome,  and  when  I  get 
you  where  I  want  you  I'm  going  to  serve  you  like  this  !  " 
And  he  took  the  cigar  from  his  mouth,  dropped  it  to 
the  floor  of  the  car  and  ground  it  to  pieces  under  his 
heel.  He  looked  up  again,  at  Trevison,  and  their 
gaze  met,  in  each  man's  eyes  glowed  the  knowledge  of 
imminent  action,  ruthless  and  terrible. 

Trevison  broke  the  tension  with  a  laugh  that  came 
from  between  his  teeth.  "Why  delay?"  he  mocked. 
"  I've  been  ready  for  the  grinding  process  since  the  first 
day." 

"  Enough  of  this !  "    Corrigan  turned  to  Gieger  with 


LAW  INVOKED  AND  DEFIED         181 

a  glance  of  cold  intolerance.  "  This  man  is  a  nuisance," 
he  said  to  the  deputy.  "  Carry  out  the  mandate  of  the 
court  and  order  him  away.  If  he  doesn't  go,  kill  him ! 
He  is  a  trespasser,  and  has  no  right  here ! "  And  he 
glared  at  Trevison. 

"You've  got  to  get  out,  mister,"  said  the  deputy. 
He  tapped  his  rifle  menacingly,  betraying  a  quick  acces 
sion  of  rage  that  he  caught,  no  doubt,  from  Corrigan. 
Trevison  smiled  coldly,  and  backed  Nigger  a  little. 
For  an  instant  he  meditated  resistance,  and  dropped 
his  right  hand  to  the  butt  of  his  pistol.  A  shout  dis 
tracted  his  attention.  It  came  from  behind  him  —  it 
sounded  like  a  warning,  and  he  wheeled,  to  see  Carson 
running  toward  him,  not  more  than  ten  feet  distant, 
waving  his  hands,  a  huge  smile  on  his  face. 

"  Domned  if  it  ain't  Trevison!"  he  yelled  as  he 
lunged  fonyard  and  caught  Trevison's  right  hand  in  his 
own,  pulling  the  rider  toward  him.  "  I've  been  wantin' 
to  spake  a  word  wid  ye  for  two  weeks  now  —  about  thim 
cows  which  me  brother  in  Illinoy  has  been  askin'  me 
about,  an*  divvil  a  chance  have  I  had  to  see  ye !  "  And 
as  he  yanked  Trevison's  shoulders  downward  with  a 
sudden  pressure  that  there  was  no  resisting,  he  whis 
pered,  rapidly. 

"  Diputies  —  thirty  av  thim  wid  Winchesters  —  on 
the  other  side  av  the  flat-cars.  It's  a  thrap  to  do  away 
wid  ye —  I  heard  'em  cookin'  it!  " 

"An'  ye  wudn't  be  sellin'  'em  to  me  at  twinty-five, 
eh?"  he  said,  aloud.  "Go  'long  wid  ye  —  ye're  a 
domned  hold-up  man,  like  all  the  rist  av  thim!  "  And 
he  slapped  the  black  horse  playfully  in  the  ribs  and 


1 82  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

laughed  gleefully  as  the  animal  lunged  at  him,  ears 
laid  back,  mouth  open. 

His  eyes  cold,  his  lips  hard  and  straight,  Trevison 
spurred  the  black  again  to  the  flat-car. 

"The  bars  are  down  between  us,  Corrigan;  it's  man 
to  man  from  now  on.  Law  or  no  law,  I  give  you 
twenty-four  hours  to  get  your  men  and  apparatus  off 
my  land.  After  that  I  won't  be  responsible  for  what 
happens ! "  He  heard  a  shout  behind  him,  a  clatter, 
and  he  turned  to  see  ten  or  twelve  of  his  men  racing 
over  the  level  toward  him.  At  the  same  instant  he 
heard  a  sharp  exclamation  from  Corrigan;  heard  Gieger 
issue  a  sharp  order,  and  a  line  of  men  raised  their 
heads  above  the  flat-cars,  rifles  in  their  hands,  which 
they  trained  on  the  advancing  cowboys. 

Nigger  leaped;  his  rider  holding  up  one  hand,  the 
palm  toward  his  men,  as  a  sign  to  halt,  while  he  charged 
into  them.  Trevison  talked  fast  to  them,  while  the 
laborers,  suspending  work,  watched,  muttering;  and 
the  rifles,  resting  on  the  flat-cars,  grew  steadier  in  their 
owners'  hands.  The  silence  grew  deeper;  the  tension 
was  so  great  that  when  somewhere  a  man  dropped  a 
shovel,  it  startled  the  watchers  like  a  sudden  bomb. 

It  was  plain  that  Trevison's  men  wanted  to  fight.  It 
was  equally  plain  that  Trevison  was  arguing  to  dissuade 
them.  And  when,  muttering,  and  casting  belligerent 
looks  backward,  they  finally  drew  off,  Trevison  fol 
lowing,  there  was  a  sigh  of  relief  from  the  watchers, 
while  Corrigan's  face  was  black  with  disappointment. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  WOMAN  RIDES  IN  VAIN 

OUT  of  Rosalind  Benham's  resentment  against 
Trevison  for  the  Hester  Harvey  incident  grew  a 
sudden  dull  apathy  —  which  presently  threatened  to 
become  an  aversion  —  for  the  West.  Its  crudeness, 
the  uncouthness  of  its  people;  the  emptiness,  the  monot 
ony,  began  to  oppress  her.  Noticing  the  waning  of  her 
enthusiasm,  Agatha  began  to  inject  energetic  condem 
nations  of  the  country  into  her  conversations  with  the 
girl,  and  to  hint  broadly  of  the  contrasting  allurements 
of  the  East. 

But  Rosalind  was  not  yet  ready  to  desert  the  Bar  B. 
She  had  been  hurt,  and  her  interest  in  the  country  had 
dulled,  but  there  were  memories  over  which  one  might 
meditate  until  —  until  one  could  be  certain  of  some 
things.  This  was  hope,  insistently  demanding  delay  of 
judgment.  The  girl  could  not  forget  the  sincere  ring 
in  Trevison's  voice  when  he  had  told  her  that  he  would 
never  go  back  to  Hester  Harvey.  Arrayed  against  this 
declaration  was  the  cold  fact  of  Hester's  visit,  and 
Hester's  statement  that  Trevison  had  sent  for  her.  In 
this  jumble  of  contradiction  hope  found  a  fertile  field. 

If  Corrigan  had  anticipated  that  the  knowledge  of 
Hester's  visit  to  Trevison  would  have  the  effect  of 

183 


1 84  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

centering  Rosalind's  interest  on  him,  he  had  erred. 
Corrigan  was  magnetic;  the  girl  felt  the  lure  of  him. 
In  his  presence  she  was  continually  conscious  of  his 
masterfulness,  with  a  dismayed  fear  that  she  would 
yield  to  it.  She  knew  this  sensation  was  not  love,  for 
it  lacked  the  fire  and  the  depth  of  the  haunting,  breath 
less  surge  of  passion  that  she  had  felt  when  she  had 
held  Trevison  off  the  day  when  he  had  declared  His  love 
for  her — that  she  felt  whenever  she  thought  of  him. 
But  with  Trevison  lost  to  her  —  she  did  not  know  what 
would  happen,  then.  For  the  present  her  resentment 
was  sufficient  to  keep  her  mind  occupied. 

She  had  a  dread  of  meeting  Corrigan  this  morning. 
Also,  Agatha's  continued  deprecatory  speeches  had 
begun  to  annoy  her,  and  at  ten  o'clock  she  ordered  one 
of  the  men  to  saddle  her  horse. 

She  rode  southward,  following  a  trail  that  brought 
her  to  Levins'  cabin.  The  cabin  was  built  of  logs, 
smoothly  hewn  and  tightly  joined,  situated  at  the  edge 
of  some  timber  in  a  picturesque  spot  at  a  point  where  a 
shallow  creek  doubled  in  its  sweep  toward  some  broken 
country  west  of  Manti. 

Rosalind  had  visited  Mrs.  Levins  many  times.  The 
warmth  of  her  welcome  on  her  first  visit  had  resulted 
in  a  quick  intimacy  which,  with  an  immediate  estimate 
of  certain  needs  by  Rosalind,  had  brought  her  back  in 
the  role  of  Lady  Bountiful.  "  Chuck"  and  "  Sissy" 
Levins  welcomed  her  vociferously  as  she  splashed 
across  the  river  to  the  door  of  the  cabin  this  morning. 

"You're  clean  spoilin'  them,  Miss  Rosalind!"  de 
clared  the  mother,  watching  from  the  doorway; 


A  WOMAN  RIDES  IN  FAIN  185 

"  they've  got  so  they  expect  you  to  bring  them  a  present 
every  time  you  come." 

Sundry  pats  and  kisses  sufficed  to  assuage  the  pangs 
of  disappointment  suffered  by  the  children,  and  shortly 
afterward  Rosalind  was  inside  the  cabin,  talking  with 
Mrs.  Levins,  and  watching  Clay,  who  was  painstak 
ingly  mending  a  breach  in  his  cartridge  belt. 

Rosalind  had  seen  Clay  once  only,  and  that  at  a  dis 
tance,  and  she  stole  interested  glances  at  him.  There 
was  a  certain  attraction  in  Clay's  lean  face,  with  its 
cold,  alert  furtiveness,  but  it  was  an  attraction  that  bred 
chill  instead  of  warmth,  for  his  face  revealed  a  wild, 
reckless,  intolerant  spirit,  remorseless,  contemptuous  of 
law  and  order.  Several  times  she  caught  him  watching 
her,  and  his  narrowed,  probing  glances  disconcerted 
her.  She  cut  her  visit  short  because  of  his  presence, 
and  when  she  rose  to  go  he  turned  in  his  chair. 

uYou  like  this  country,  ma'am?" 

"Well  —  yes.  But  it  is  much  different,  after  the 
East." 

"Some  smoother  there,  eh?     Folks  are  slicker?" 

She  eyed  him  appraisingly,  for  there  was  an  under 
current  of  significance  in  his  voice.  She  smiled.  "  Well 
—  I  suppose  so.  You  see,  competition  is  keener  in  the 
East,  and  it  rather  sharpens  one's  wits,  I  presume." 

"  H'm.  I  reckon  you're  right.  This  railroad  has 
brought  some  mighty  slick  ones  here.  Mighty  slick  an' 
gaily."  He  looked  at  her  truculently.  "  Corrigan's 
one  of  the  slick  ones.  Friend  of  yours,  eh?" 

"Clay!"  remonstrated  his  wife,  sharply. 

He  turned  on  her  roughly.     "You  keep  out  of  this! 


1 8  6  "  FIREBRAND  "   TREFISON 

I  ain't  meanin'  nothin'  wrong.  But  I  reckon  when  any 
one's  got  a  sneakin'  coyote  for  a  friend  an'  don't  know 
it,  it's  doin'  'em  a  good  turn  to  spit  things  right  out, 
frank  an'  fair. 

"This  Corrigan  ain't  on  the  level,  ma'am.  Do  you 
know  what  he's  doin'  ?  He's  skinnin'  the  folks  in  this 
country  out  of  about  a  hundred  thousand  acres  of  land. 
He's  clouded  every  damn  title.  He's  got  a  fake  bill 
of  sale  to  show  that  he  bought  the  land  years  ago  — 
which  he  didn't  —  an'  he's  got  a  little  beast  of  a  judge 
here  to  back  him  up  in  his  play.  They've  done  away 
with  the  original  record  of  the  land,  an'  rigged  up 
another,  which  makes  Corrigan's  title  clear.  It's  the 
rankest  robbery  that  any  man  ever  tried  to  pull  off, 
an'  if  he's  a  friend  of  yourn  you  ought  to  cut  him  off 
your  visitin'  list! " 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  Who  told  you?"  asked 
the  girl,  her  face  whitening,  for  the  man's  vehemence 
and  evident  earnestness  were  convincing. 

"*  Brand'  Trevison  told  me.  It  hits  him  mighty 
damned  hard.  He  had  a  deed  to  his  land.  Corrigan 
broke  open  his  office  an'  stole  it.  Trevison's  certain 
sure  his  deed  was  on  the  record,  for  he  went  to  Dry 
Bottom  with  Buck  Peters  —  the  man  he  bought  the 
land  from  —  an'  seen  it  wrote  down  on  the  record!" 
He  laughed  harshly.  "There's  goin'  to  be  hell  to  pay 
here.  Trevison  won't  stand  for  it  —  though  the  other 
gillies  are  advisin'  caution.  Caution  hell!  I'm  for 
cleanin'  the  scum  out  I  Do  you  know  what  Corrigan 
done,  yesterday?  He  got  thirty  or  so  deputies  — 
pluguglies  that  he's  hired  —  an'  hid  'em  behind  some 


A  WOMAN  RIDES  IN  FAIN  187 

flat-cars  down  on  the  level  where  they're  erectin'  some 
minin'  machinery.  He  laid  a  trap  for  4  Firebrand/ 
expectin'  him  to  come  down  there,  rippin'  mad  because 
they  was  puttin'  the  minin'  machinery  up  on  his  land, 
wi'out  his  permission.  They  was  goin'  to  shoot  him 
—  Corrigan  put  'em  up  to  it.  That  Carson  fello' 
heard  it  an'  put  '  Firebrand'  wise.  An'  the  shootin' 
didn't  come  off.  But  that's  only  the  beginnin' !  " 

"Did  Trevison  tell  you  to  tell  me  this?"  The  girl 
was  stunned,  amazed,  incredulous.  For  her  father  was 
concerned  in  this,  and  if  he  had  any  knowledge  that 
Corrigan  was  stealing  land  —  if  he  was  stealing  it  — 
he  was  guilty  as  Corrigan.  If  he  had  no  knowledge 
of  it,  she  might  be  able  to  prevent  the  steal  by  com 
municating  with  him. 

"Trevison  tell  me?"  laughed  Levins,  scornfully; 
"  '  Firebrand '  ain't  no  pussy-kitten  fighter  which  depends 
on  women  standin'  between  him  an'  trouble.  I'm  tellin' 
you  on  my  own  hook,  so's  that  big  stiff  Corrigan  won't 
get  swelled  up,  thinkin'  he's  got  a  chance  to  hitch  up 
with  you  in  the  matrimonial  wagon.  That  guy's  got 
murder  in  his  heart,  girl.  Did  you  hear  of  me  shootin' 
that  sneak,  Marchmont?  "  The  girl  had  heard  rumors 
of  the  affair;  she  nodded,  and  Levins  went  on.  "It 
was  Corrigan  that  hired  me  to  do  it  —  payin'  me  a 
thousand,  cash."  His  wife  gasped,  and  he  spoke  gently 
to  her.  "  That's  all  right,  Ma ;  it  wasn't  no  cold-blooded 
affair  —  Jim  Marchmont  knowed  a  sister  of  mine  pretty 
intimate,  when  he  was  out  here  years  ago,  an'  I  settled 
a  debt  that  I  thought  I  owed  to  her,  that's  all.  I  ain't 
none  sorry,  neither  —  I  knowed  him  soon  as  Corrigan 


1 88  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

mentioned  his  name.  But  I  hadn't  no  time  to  call  his 
attention  to  things  —  I  had  to  plug  him,  sudden.  I'm 
sorry  I've  said  this,  ma'am,  now  that  it's  out,"  he  said 
in  a  changed  voice,  noting  the  girl's  distress;  "but  I 
felt  you  ought  to  know  who  you're  dealin'  with." 

Rosalind  went  out,  swaying,  her  knees  shaking.  She 
heard  Levins'  wife  reproving  him;  heard  the  man  reply 
ing  gruffly.  She  felt  that  it  must  be  so.  She  cared 
nothing  about  Corrigan,  beyond  a  certain  regret,  but 
a  wave  of  sickening  fear  swept  over  her  at  the  growing 
conviction  that  her  father  must  know  something  of  all 
this.  And  if,  as  Levins  said,  Corrigan  was  attempting 
to  defraud  these  people,  she  felt  that  common  justice 
required  that  she  head  him  off,  if  possible.  By  defeat 
ing  Corrigan's  aim  she  would,  of  course,  be  aiding  Trev- 
ison,  and  through  him  Hester  Harvey,  whom  she  had 
grown  to  despise,  but  that  hatred  should  not  deter  her. 
She  mounted  her  horse  in  a  fever  of  anxiety  and  raced 
it  over  the  plains  toward  Manti,  determined  to  find 
Corrigan  and  force  him  to  tell  her  the  truth. 

Half  way  to  town  she  saw  a  rider  coming,  and  she 
slowed  her  own  horse,  taking  the  rider  to  be  Corrigan, 
coming  to  the  Bar  B.  She  saw  her  mistake  when  the 
rider  was  within  a  hundred  feet  of  her.  She  blushed, 
then  paled,  and  started  to  pass  the  rider  without  speak 
ing,  for  it  was  Trevison.  She  looked  up  when  he 
urged  Nigger  against  her  animal,  blocking  the  trail, 
frowning. 

"Look  here,"  he  said;  "what's  wrong?  Why  do 
you  avoid  me?  I  saw  you  on  the  Diamond  K  range 
the  other  day,  and  when  I  started  to  ride  toward  you 


RIDES  L\  J'AIX  189 


you  whipped  up  your  horse.  You  tried  to  pass  me  just 
now.  What  have  I  done  to  deserve  it?" 

She  could  not  tell  him  about  Hester  Harvey,  of 
course,  and  so  she  was  silent,  blushing  a  little.  He  took 
her  manner  as  an  indication  of  guilt,  and  gritted  his 
teeth  with  the  pain  that  the  discovery  caused  him,  for 
he  had  been  hoping,  too  —  that  his  suspicions  of  her 
were  groundless. 

"  I  do,  not  care  to  discuss  the  matter  with  you."  She 
looked  fairly  at  him,  her  resentment  flaming  in  her 
eyes,  fiercely  indignant  over  his  effrontery  in  addressing 
her  in  that  manner,  after  his  affair  with  Hester  Harvey. 
She  was  going  to  help  him,  but  that  did  not  mean  that 
she  was  going  to  blind  herself  to  his  faults,  or  to  accept 
them  mutely.  His  bold  confidence  in  himself  —  which 
she  had  once  admired  —  repelled  her  now;  she  saw  in 
it  the  brazen  egotism  of  the  gross  sensualist,  seeking 
new  victims. 

"  I  am  in  a  hurry,"  she  said,  stiffly;  "you  will  pardon 
me  if  I  proceed." 

He  jumped  Xigger  off  the  trail  and  watched  with 
gloomy,  disappointed  eyes,  her  rapid  progress  toward 
Manti.  Then  he  urged  Xigger  onward,  toward  Levins' 
cabin.  "  I'll  have  to  erect  another  monument  to  my 
faith  in  women,"  he  muttered.  And  certain  reckless, 
grim  thoughts  that  had  rioted  in  his  mind  since  the  day 
before,  now  assumed  a  definiteness  that  made  his  blood 
leap  with  eagerness. 

Later,  when  Rosalind  sat  opposite  Corrigan  at  his 
desk,  she  found  it  hard  to  believe  Levins'  story.  The 
big  man's  smooth  plausibility  made  Levins'  recital  seem 


1 9Q  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

like  the  weird  imaginings  of  a  disordered  mind,  goaded 
to  desperation  by  opposition.  And  again,  his  mag 
netism,  his  polite  consideration  for  her  feelings,  his 
ingenuous,  smiling  deference  —  so  sharply  contrasted 
with  Trevison's  direct  bluntness  —  swayed  her,  and  she 
sat,  perplexed,  undecided,  when  he  finished  the  explana 
tion  she  had  coldly  demanded  of  him. 

"It  is  the  invariable  defense  of  these  squatters,"  he 
added:  "that  they  are  being  robbed.  In  this  case  they 
have  embellished  their  hackneyed  tale  somewhat  by 
dragging  the  court  into  it,  and  telling  you  that  absurd 
story  about  the  shooting  of  Marchmont.  Could  you  tell 
me  what  possible  interest  I  could  have  in  wanting  March 
mont  killed?  Don't  you  think,  Miss  Rosalind,  that 
Levins'  reference  to  his  sister  discloses  the  real  reason 
for  the  man's  action?  Levins'  story  that  I  paid  him  a 
thousand  dollars  is  a  fabrication,  pure  and  simple.  I 
paid  Jim  Marchmont  a  thousand  dollars  that  morning, 
which  was  the  balance  due  him  on  our  contract.  The 
transaction  was  witnessed  by  Judge  Lindman.  After 
Marchmont  was  shot,  Levins  took  the  money  from 
him." 

"Why  wasn't  Levins  arrested?" 

"It  seems  that  public  opinion  was  with  Levins.  A 
great  many  people  here  knew  of  the  ancient  trouble 
between  them."  He  passed  from  that,  quickly.  "The 
tale  of  the  robbery  of  Trevison's  office  is  childlike,  for 
the  reason  that  Trevison  had  no  deed.  Judge  Lindman 
is  an  honored  and  respected  official.  And — "  he 
added  as  a  last  argument  "  —  your  father  is  the  re 
spected  head  of  a  large  and  important  railroad.  Is  it 


A  WOMAN  RIDES  IN  FAIN  191 

logical  to  suppose  that  he  would  lend  his  influence  and 
his  good  name  to  any  such  ridiculous  scheme?  " 

She  sighed,  almost  convinced.  Corrigan  went  on, 
earnestly: 

"This  man  Trevison  is  a  disturber  —  he  has  always 
been  that.  He  has  no  respect  for  the  law  or  property. 
He  associates  with  the  self-confessed  murderer,  Levins. 
He  is  a  riotous,  reckless,  egotistical  fool  who,  because 
the  law  stands  in  the  way  of  his  desires,  wishes  to 
trample  it  under  foot  and  allow  mob  rule  to  take  its 
place.  Do  you  remember  you  mentioned  that  he  once 
loved  a  woman  named  Hester  Keyes?  Well,  he  has 
brought  Hester  here  —  " 

She  got  up,  her  chin  at  a  scornful  angle.  "  I  do  not 
care  to  hear  about  his  personal  affairs."  She  went  out, 
mounted  her  horse,  and  rode  slowly  out  the  Bar  B  trail. 
From  a  window  Corrigan  watched  her,  and  as  she 
vanished  into  the  distance  he  turned  back  to  his  desk, 
meditating  darkly. 

"Trevison  put  Levins  up  to  that.  He's  showing 
yellow." 


CHAPTER  XX 

AND  RIDES  AGAIN IN  VAIN 

ROSALIND'S  reflections  as  she  rode  toward  the 
Bar  B  convinced  her  that  there  had  been  much 
truth  in  Corrigan's  arraignment  of  Trevison.  Out  of 
her  own  knowledge  of  him,  and  from  his  own  admis 
sion  to  her  on  the  day  they  had  ridden  to  Blakeley's 
the  first  time,  she  adduced  evidence  of  his  predilection 
for  fighting,  of  his  utter  disregard  for  accepted  author 
ity —  when  that  authority  disagreed  with  his  concep 
tion  of  justice;  of  his  lawlessness  when  his  desires  were 
in  question.  His  impetuosity  was  notorious,  for  it  had 
earned  him  the  sobriquet  "  Firebrand,"  which  he  could 
not  have  acquired  except  through  the  exhibition  of 
those  traits  that  she  had  enumerated. 

She  was  disappointed  and  spiritless  when  she  reached 
the  ranchhouse,  and  very  tired,  physically.  Agatha's 
questions  irritated  her,  and  she  ate  sparingly  of  the 
food  set  before  her,  eager  to  be  alone.  In  the  isolation 
of  her  room  she  lay  dumbly  on  the  bed,  and  there  the 
absurdity  of  Levins'  story  assailed  her.  It  must  be  as 
Corrigan  had  said- — her  father  was  too  great  a  man 
to  descend  to  such  despicable  methods.  She  dropped 
off  to  sleep. 

When  she  awoke  the  sun  had  gone  down,  and  her 

192 


AND  RIDES  AGAIN— IN  FAIN        193 

room  was  cheerless  in  the  semi-dusk.  She  got  up, 
washed,  combed  her  hair,  and  much  refreshed,  went 
downstairs  and  ate  heartily,  Agatha  watching  her  nar 
rowly. 

"  You  are  distraught,  my  dear,"  ventured  Her  rel 
ative.  "  I  don't  think  this  country  agrees  with  you. 
Has  anything  happened?" 

The  girl  answered  evasively,  whereat  Agatha  com 
pressed  her  lips. 

"Don't  you  think  that  a  trip  East — " 

"I  shall  not  go  home  this  summer!  "  declared  Rosa 
lind,  vehemently.  And  noting  the  flash  in  the  girl's 
eyes,  belligerent  and  defiant;  her  swelling  breast,  the 
warning  brilliance  of  her  eyes,  misty  with  pent-up  emo 
tion,  Agatha  wisely  subsided  and  the  meal  was  finished 
in  a  strained  silence. 

Later,  Rosalind  went  out,  alone,  upon  the  porch 
where,  huddled  in  a  big  rocker,  she  gazed  gloomily  at 
the  lights  of  Manti,  dim  and  distant.  Something  of 
the  turmoil  and  the  tumult  of  the  town  in  its  young 
strength  and  vigor,  assailed  her,  contrasting  sharply 
with  the  solemn  peace  of  her  own  surroundings.  Life 
had  been  a  very  materialistic  problem  to  her,  hereto 
fore.  She  had  lived  it  according  to  her  environment, 
a  mere  onlooker,  detached  from  the  scheme  of  things. 
Something  of  the  meaning  of  life  trickled  into  her  con 
sciousness  as  she  sat  there  watching  the  flickering  lights 
of  the  town  —  something  of  the  meaning  of  it  all  — 
the  struggle  of  these  new  residents  twanged  a  hidden 
chord  of  sympathy  and  understanding  in  her.  She  was 
able  to  visualize  them  as  she  sat  there.  Faces  flashed 


i94  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

before  her — strong,  stern,  eager;  the  owner  of  each 
a-thrill  with  his  ambition,  going  forward  in  the  march 
of  progress  with  definite  aim,  planning,  plotting,  schem 
ing —  some  of  them  winning,  others  losing,  but  all 
obsessed  with  a  feverish  desire  of  success.  The  rail 
road,  the  town,  the  ranches,  the  new  dam,  the  people 
—  all  were  elements  of  a  conflict,  waged  ceaselessly. 
She  sat  erect,  her  blood  tingling.  Blows  were  being 
struck,  taken. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  sharply;  "it's  a  game!  It's  the 
spirit  of  the  nation  —  to  fight,  to  press  onward,  to 
win!"  And  in  that  moment  she  was  seized  with  a 
throbbing  sympathy  for  Trevison,  and  filled  with  a 
yearning  that  he  might  win,  in  spite  of  Corrigan,  Hester 
Harvey,  and  all  the  others  —  even  her  father.  For  he 
was  a  courageous  player  of  this  "  game."  In  him  was 
typified  the  spirit  of  the  nation. 

Rosalind  might  have  added  something  to  her  thoughts 
had  she  known  of  the  passions  that  filled  Trevison 
when,  while  she  sat  on  the  porch  of  the  Bar  B  ranch- 
house,  he  mounted  Nigger  and  sent  him  scurrying 
through  the  mellow  moonlight  toward  Manti.  He  was 
playing  the  "game,"  with  justice  as  his  goal.  The 
girl  had  caught  something  of  the  spirit  of  it  all,  but 
she  had  neglected  to  grasp  the  all-important  element 
of  the  relations  between  men,  without  which  laws,  rules, 
and  customs  become  farcical  and  ridiculous.  He  was 
determined  to  have  justice.  He  knew  well  that  Judge 
Graney's  mission  to  Washington  would  result  in  failure 
unless  the  deed  to  his  property  could  be  recovered,  or 


AND  RIDES  AGAIN— IN  VAIN        195 

the  original  record  disclosed.  Even  then,  with  a  weak 
and  dishonest  judge  on  the  bench  the  issue  might  be 
muddled  by  a  mass  of  legal  technicalities.  The  court 
order  permitting  Braman  to  operate  a  mine  on  his  prop 
erty  goaded  him  to  fury. 

He  stopped  at  Hanrahan's  saloon,  finding  Lefing- 
well  there  and  talking  with  him  for  a  few  minutes. 
Lefingwell's  docile  attitude  disgusted  him  —  he  said  he 
had  talked  the  matter  over  with  a  number  of  the  other 
owners,  and  they  had  expressed  themselves  as  being  in 
favor  of  awaiting  the  result  of  his  appeal.  He  left 
Lefingwell,  not  trusting  himself  to  argue  the  question 
of  the  man's  attitude,  and  went  down  to  the  station, 
where  he  found  a  telegram  a\vaiting  him.  It  was  from 
Judge  Graney: 

Coming  home.  Case  sent  back  to  Circuit  Court  for  hearing. 
Depend  on  you  to  get  evidence. 

Trevison  crumpled  the  paper  and  shoved  it  savagely 
into  a  pocket.  He  stood  for  a  long  time  on  the  station 
platform,  in  the  dark,  glowering  at  the  lights  of  the 
town,  then  started  abruptly  and  made  his  way  into  the 
gambling  room  of  the  Plaza,  where  he  somberly 
watched  the  players.  The  rattle  of  chips,  the  whir  of 
the  wheel,  the  monotonous  drone  of  the  faro  dealer, 
the  hum  of  voices,  some  eager,  some  tense,  others 
exultant  or  grumbling,  the  incessant  jostling,  irritated 
him.  He  went  out  the  front  door,  stepped  down  into 
the  street,  and  walked  eastward.  Passing  an  open  space 
between  two  buildings  he  became  aware  of  the  figure 


196  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

of  a  woman,  and  he  wheeled  as  she  stepped  forward 
and  grasped  his  arm.  He  recognized  her  and  tried 
to  pass  on,  but  she  clung  to  him. 

"Trev!"  she  said,  appealingly;  "I  want  to  talk 
with  you.  It's  very  important — really.  Just  a  min 
ute,  Trev.  Won't  you  talk  that  long!  Come  to  my 
room  —  where  —  " 

"Talk  fast,"  he  admonished,  holding  her  off, 
«_and  talk  here." 

She  struggled  with  him,  trying  to  come  closer,  twist 
ing  so  that  her  body  struck  his,  and  the  contact  brought 
a  grim  laugh  out  of  him.  He  seized  her  by  the  shoul 
ders  and  held  her  at  arm's  length.  "Talk  from  there 
—  it's  safer.  Now,  if  you've  anything  important  —  " 

"O  Trev — please  —  "  She  laughed,  almost  sob 
bing,  but  forced  the  tears  back  when  she  saw  derision 
blazing  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  told  you  it  was  all  over !  "  He  pushed  her  away 
and  started  off,  but  he  had  taken  only  two  steps  when 
she  was  at  his  side  again. 

"I  saw  you  from  my  window,  Trev.  I  —  I  knew  it 
was  you — I  couldn't  mistake  you,  anywhere.  I  fol 
lowed  you  —  saw  you  go  into  the  Plaza.  I  came  to 
warn  you.  Corrigan  has  planned  to  goad  you  into  doing 
some  rash  thing  so  that  he  will  have  an  excuse  to 
jail  or  kill  you!" 

"Where  did  you  hear  that?" 

"I  —  I  just  heard  it.  I  was  in  the  bank  today,  and 
I  overheard  him  talking  to  a  man  —  some  officer,  I 
think.  Be  careful,  Trev  —  very  careful,  won't  you?" 

"Careful  as  I  can,"  he  laughed,  lowly.     "Thank 


AND  RIDES  AGAIN— IN  FAIN        197 

you."    He  started  on  again,  and  she  grasped  his  arm. 
"Trev,"  she  pleaded. 

"What's  the  use,  Hester?"  he  said;  "it  can't  be." 
"Well,  God  bless  you,  anyway,  dear,"  she  said  chok 
ingly. 

He  passed  on,  leaving  her  in  the  shadows  of  the 
buildings,  and  walked  far  out  on  the  plains.  Making 
a  circuit  to  avoid  meeting  the  woman  again,  he  skirted 
the  back  yards,  stumbling  over  tin  cans  and  debris  in 
his  progress.  When  he  got  to  the  shed  where  he  had 
hitched  Nigger  he  mounted  and  rode  down  the  railroad 
tracks  toward  the  cut,  where  an  hour  later  he  was 
joined  by  Clay  Levins,  who  came  toward  him,  riding 
slowly  and  cautiously. 

Patrick  Carson  had  wooed  sleep  unsuccessfully.  For 
hours  he  lay  on  his  cot  in  the  tent,  staring  out  through 
the  flap  at  the  stars.  A  vague  unrest  had  seized  him. 
He  heard  the  hilarious  din  of  Manti  steadily  decrease 
in  volume  until  only  intermittent  noises  reached  his 
ears.  But  even  when  comparative  peace  came  he  was 
still  wide  awake. 

"  I'll  be  gettin'  the  willies  av  I  lay  here  much  longer 
widout  slape,"  he  confided  to  his  pillow.  "  Mebbe  a 
turn  down  the  track  wid  me  dujeen  wud  do  the  thrick." 
He  got  up,  lighted  his  pipe  and  strode  off  into  the 
semi-gloom  of  the  railroad  track.  He  went  aimlessly, 
paying  little  attention  to  objects  around  him.  He  passed 
the  tents  wherein  the  laborers  lay  — and  smiled  as 
heavy  snores  smote  his  ears.  "  They  slape  a  heap 
harder  than  they  worruk,  bedad!"  he  observed,  grin- 


198  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

ning.  "Nothin'  c'ud  trouble  a  ginney's  conscience, 
annyway,"  he  scoffed.  "But,  accordin'  to  that  they 
must  be  a  heap  on  me  own! "  Which  observation  sent 
his  thoughts  to  Corrigan.  "Begob,  there's  a  man!  A 
domned  rogue,  if  iver  they  was  one  I  " 

He  passed  the  tents,  smoking  thoughtfully.  He 
paused  when  he  came  to  the  small  buildings  scattered 
about  at  quite  a  distance  from  the  tents,  then  left  the 
tracks  and  made  his  way  through  the  deep  alkali  dust 
toward  them. 

"  Whativer  wud  Corrigan  be  askin'  about  the  dyna 
mite  for  ?  '  How  much  do  ye  kape  av  it  ? '  he  was  askin'. 
As  if  it  was  anny  av  his  business! " 

He  stopped  puffing  at  his  pipe  and  stood  rigid,  watch 
ing  with  bulging  eyes,  for  he  saw  the  door  of  the  dyna 
mite  shed  move  outward  several  inches,  as  though  some 
one  inside  had  shoved  it.  It  closed  again,  slowly,  and 
Carson  was  convinced  that  he  had  been  seen.  He  was 
no  coward,  but  a  cold  sweat  broke  out  on  him  and  his 
knees  doubled  weakly.  For  any  man  who  would  visit 
the  dynamite  shed  around  midnight,  in  this  stealthy 
manner,  must  be  in  a  desperate  frame  of  mind,  and 
Carson's  virile  imagination  drew  lurid  pictures  of  a 
gun  duel  in  which  a  stray  shot  penetrated  the  wall  of 
the  shed.  He  shivered  at  the  roar  of  the  explosion  that 
followed;  he  even  drew  a  gruesome  picture  of  stretchers 
and  mangled  flesh  that  brought  a  groan  out  of  him. 

But  in  spite  of  his  mental  stress  he  lunged  forward, 
boldly,  though  his  breath  wheezed  from  his  lungs  in 
great  gasps.  His  body  lagged,  but  his  will  was  indomit 
able,  once  he  quit  looking  at  the  pictures  of  his  imagi- 


AND  RIDES  AGAIN— IN  FAIN        199 

nation.  He  was  at  the  door  of  the  shed  in  a  dozen 
strides. 

The  lock  had  been  forced;  the  hasp  was  hanging,  sus 
pended  from  a  twisted  staple.  Carson  had  no  pistol  — 
it  would  have  been  useless,  anyway. 

Carson  hesitated,  vacillating  between  two  courses. 
Should  he  return  for  help,  or  should  he  secrete  himself 
somewhere  and  watch?  The  utter  foolhardiness  of 
attempting  the  capture  of  the  prowler  single  handed 
assailed  him,  and  he  decided  on  retreat.  He  took  one 
step,  and  then  stood  rigid  in  his  tracks,  for  a  voice 
filtered  thinly  through  the  doorway,  hoarse,  vibrant : 

"  Don't  forget  the  fuses." 

Carson's  lips  formed  the  word:  "Trevison!" 

Carson's  breath  came  easier;  his  thoughts  became 
more  coherent,  his  recollection  vivid;  his  sympathies 
leaped  like  living  things.  When  his  thoughts  dwelt 
upon  the  scene  at  the  butte  during  Trevison's  visit  while 
the  mining  machinery  was  being  erected  —  the  trap  that 
Corrigan  had  prepared  for  the  man  —  a  grim  smile 
wreathed  his  face,  for  he  strongly  suspected  what  was 
meant  by  Trevison's  visit  to  the  dynamite  shed. 

He  slipped  cautiously  around  a  corner  of  the  shed, 
making  no  sound  in  the  deep  dust  surrounding  it,  and 
stole  back  the  way  he  had  come,  tingling. 

"Begob,  I'll  slape  now  —  a  little  while!" 

As  Carson  vanished  down  the  tracks  a  head  was 
stuck  out  through  the  doorway  of  the  shed  and  turned 
so  that  its  owner  could  scan  his  surroundings. 

"All  clear,"  he  whispered. 

"  Get  going,  then,"  said  another  voice,  and  two  men, 


200  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

their  faces  muffled  with  handkerchiefs,  bearing  some 
thing  that  bulked  their  pockets  oddly,  slipped  out  of 
the  door  and  fled  noiselessly,  like  gliding  shadows, 
down  the  track  toward  the  cut. 

Rosalind  had  been  asleep  in  the  rocker.  A  cool  night 
breeze,  laden  with  the  strong,  pungent  aroma  of  sage, 
sent  a  shiver  over  her  and  she  awoke,  to  see  that  the 
lights  of  Manti  had  vanished.  An  eerie  lonesomeness 
had  settled  around  her. 

"Why,  it  must  be  nearly  midnight! "  she  said.  She 
got  up,  yawning,  and  stepped  toward  the  door,  won 
dering  why  Agatha  had  not  called  her.  But  Agatha 
had  retired,  resenting  the  girl's  manner. 

Almost  to  the  door,  Rosalind  detected  movement  in 
the  ghostly  semi-light  that  flooded  the  plains  between 
the  porch  and  the  picturesque  spot,  more  than  a  mile 
away,  on  which  Levins'  cabin  stood.  She  halted  at  the 
door  and  watched,  and  when  the  moving  object  resolved 
into  a  horse,  loping  swiftly,  she  strained  her  eyes  toward 
it.  At  first  it  seemed  to  have  no  rider,  but  when  it 
had  approached  to  within  a  hundred  yards  of  her, 
she  gasped,  leaped  off  the  porch  and  ran  toward  the 
horse.  An  instant  later  she  stood  at  the  animal's  head, 
voicing  her  astonishment. 

"Why,  it's  Chuck  Levins!  Why  on  earth  are  you 
riding  around  at  this  hour  of  the  night?" 

"  Sissy's  sick.  Maw  wants  you  to  please  come  an' 
see  what  you  can  do  —  if  it  ain't  too  much  trouble." 

"  Trouble  ?  "  The  girl  laughed.  "  I  should  say  not ! 
Wait  until  I  saddle  my  horse ! " 


AND  RIDES  AGAIN— IN  VAIN        201 

She  ran  to  the  porch  and  stole  silently  into  the  house, 
emerging  with  a  small  medicine  case,  which  she  stuck 
into  a  pocket  of  her  coat.  Once  before  she  had  had 
occasion  to  use  her  simple  remedies  on  Sissy  —  an  illness 
as  simple  as  her  remedies;  but  she  could  feel  something 
of  Mrs.  Levins'  concern  for  her  offspring,  and  —  and  it 
was  an  ideal  night  for  a  gallop  over  the  plains. 

It  was  almost  midnight  by  the  Levins'  clock  when 
she  entered  the  cabin,  and  a  quick  diagnosis  of  her  case 
with  an  immediate  application  of  one  of  her  remedies, 
brought  results.  At  half  past  twelve  Sissy  was  sleep 
ing  peacefully,  and  Chuck  had  dozed  off,  fully  dressed, 
no  doubt  ready  to  re-enact  his  manly  and  heroic  role 
upon  call. 

It  was  not  until  Rosalind  was  ready  to  go  that  Mrs. 
Levins  apologized  for  her  husband's  rudeness  to  his 
guest. 

"  Clay  feels  awfully  bitter  against  Corrigan.  It's 
because  Corrigan  is  fighting  Trevison  —  and  Trevison 
is  Clay's  friend  —  they've  been  like  brothers.  Trev 
ison  has  done  so  much  for  us." 

Rosalind  glanced  around  the  cabin.  She  had  meant 
to  ask  Chuck  why  his  father  had  not  come  on  the  mid 
night  errand,  but  had  forebore.  "  Mr.  Levins  isn't 
here?" 

"  Clay  went  away  about  nine  o'clock."  The  woman 
did  not  meet  Rosalind's  direct  gaze;  she  flushed  under 
it  and  looked  downward,  twisting  her  fingers  in  her 
apron.  Rosalind  had  noted  a  strangeness  in  the  wom 
an's  manner  when  she  had  entered  the  cabin,  but  she 
had  ascribed  it  to  the  child's  illness,  and  had  thought 


202  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

nothing  more  of  it.  But  now  it  burst  upon  her  with 
added  force,  and  when  she  looked  up  again  Rosalind 
saw  there  was  an  odd,  strained  light  in  her  eyes  —  a 
fear,  a  dread  —  a  sinister  something  that  she  shrank 
from.  Rosalind  remembered  the  killing  of  March- 
mont,  and  had  a  quick  divination  of  impending  trouble. 

"What  is  it,  Mrs.  Levins?    What  has  happened?" 

The  woman  gulped  hard,  and  clenched  her  hands. 
Evidently,  whatever  her  trouble,  she  had  determined 
to  bear  it  alone,  but  was  now  wavering. 

41  Tell  me,  Mrs.  Levins ;  perhaps  I  can  help  you  ?  " 

"You  can!"  The  words  burst  sobbingly  from  the 
woman.  "  Maybe  you  can  prevent  it.  But,  oh,  Miss 
Rosalind,  I  wasn't  to  say  anything — Clay  told  me  not 
to.  But  I'm  so  afraid!  Clay's  so  hot-headed,  and 
Trevison  is  so  daring!  I'm  afraid  they  won't  stop  at 
anything! " 

"But  what  is  it?"  demanded  Rosalind,  catching 
something  of  the  woman's  excitement. 

"  It's  about  the  machinery  at  the  butte  —  the  mining 
machinery.  My  God,  you'll  never  say  I  told  you  — 
will  you?  But  they're  going  to  blow  it  up  tonight  — 
Clay  and  Trevison;  they're  going  to  dynamite  it!  I'm 
afraid  there  will  be  murder  done !  " 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before?"  The  girl  stood 
rigid,  white,  breathless. 

"Oh,  I  ought  to,"  moaned  the  woman.  "  But  I  was 
afraid  you'd  tell  —  Corrigan  —  somebody  —  and  — 
and  they'd  get  into  trouble  with  the  law !  " 

"I  won't  tell  —  but  I'll  stop  it  —  if  there's  time! 
For  your  sake.  Trevison  is  the  one  to  blame." 


AND  RIDES  AGAIN— IN  FAIN        203 

She  inquired  about  the  location  of  the  butte;  the 
shortest  trail,  and  then  ran  out  to  her  horse.  Once  in 
the  saddle  she  drew  a  deep  breath  and  sent  the  animal 
scampering  into  the  flood  of  moonlight. 

Down  toward  the  cut  the  two  men  ran,  and  when  they 
reached  a  gully  at  a  distance  of  several  hundred  feet 
from  the  dynamite  shed  they  came  upon  their  horses. 
Mounting,  they  rode  rapidly  down  the  track  toward  the 
butte  where  the  mining  machinery  was  being  erected. 
They  had  taken  the  handkerchiefs  off  while  they  ran, 
and  now  Trevison  laughed  with  the  hearty  abandon  of 
a  boy  whose  mischievous  prank  has  succeeded. 

"That  was  easy.  I  thought  I  heard  a  noise,  though, 
when  you  backed  against  the  door  and  shoved  it  open." 

"  Nobody  usually  monkeys  around  a  dynamite  shed 
at  night,"  returned  Levins.  "  Whew!  There's  enough 
of  that  stuff  there  to  blow  Manti  to  Kingdom  Come 
—  wherever  that  is." 

They  rode  boldly  across  the  level  at  the  base  of  the 
butte,  for  they  had  reconnoitered  after  meeting  on  the 
plains  just  outside  of  town,  and  knew  Corrigan  had 
left  no  one  on  guard. 

"It's  a  cinch,"  Levins  declared  as  they  dismounted 
from  their  horses  in  the  shelter  of  a  shoulder  of  the 
butte,  about  a  hundred  yards  from  where  the  corru 
gated  iron  building,  nearly  complete,  loomed  somberly 
on  the  level.  "  But  if  they'd  ever  get  evidence  that  we 
done  it  —  " 

Trevison  laughed  lowly,  with  a  grim  humor  that 
made  Levins  look  sharply  at  him.  "That  abandoned 


204  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

pueblo  on  the  creek  near  your  shack  is  built  like  a  for 
tress,  Levins." 

"What  in  hell  has  this  job  got  to  do  with  that  dobie 
pile?"  questioned  the  other. 

"  Plenty.  Oh,  you're  curious,  now.  But  I'm  going 
to  keep  you  guessing  for  a  day  or  two." 

"You'll  go  loco  —  give  you  time,"  scoffed  Levins. 

"  Somebody  else  will  go  crazy  when  this  stuff  lets 
go,"  laughed  Trevison,  tapping  his  pockets. 

Levins  snickered.  They  trailed  the  reins  over  the 
heads  of  their  horses,  and  walked  swiftly  toward  the 
corrugated  iron  building.  Halting  in  the  shadow  of  it, 
they  held  a  hurried  conference,  and  then  separated, 
Trevison  going  toward  the  engine,  already  set  up,  with 
its  flimsy  roof  covering  it,  and  working  around  it  for  a 
few  minutes,  then  darting  from  it  to  a  small  building 
filled  with  tools  and  stores,  and  to  a  pile  of  machinery 
and  supplies  stacked  against  the  wall  of  the  butte. 
They  worked  rapidly,  elusive  as  shadows  in  the  deep 
gloom  of  the  wall  of  the  butte,  and  when  their  work 
was  completed  they  met  in  the  full  glare  of  the  moon 
light  near  the  corrugated  iron  building  and  whispered 
again. 

Lashing  her  horse  over  a  strange  trail,  Rosalind 
Benham  came  to  a  thicket  of  gnarled  fir-balsam  and 
scrub  oak  that  barred  her  way  completely.  She  had 
ridden  hard  and  her  horse  breathed  heavily  during  the 
short  time  she  spent  looking  about  her.  Her  own 
breath  was  coming  sharply,  sobbing  in  her  throat,  but 
it  was  more  from  excitement  than  from  the  hazard 


AND  RIDES  AGAIN— IN  FAIN        205 

and  labor  of  the  ride,  for  she  had  paid  little  attention 
to  the  trail,  beyond  giving  the  horse  direction,  trusting 
to  the  animal's  wisdom,  accepting  the  risks  as  a  matter- 
of-course.  It  was  the  imminence  of  violence  that  had 
aroused  her,  the  portent  of  a  lawless  deed  that  might 
result  in  tragedy.  She  had  told  Mrs.  Levins  that  she 
was  doing  this  thing  for  her  sake,  but  she  knew  better. 
She  did  consider  the  woman,  but  she  realized  that  her 
dominating  passion  was  for  the  grim-faced  young  man 
who,  discouraged,  driven  to  desperation  by  the  force  of 
circumstances  —  just  or  not  —  was  fighting  for  what  he 
considered  were  his  rights  —  the  accumulated  results  of 
ten  years  of  exile  and  work.  She  wanted  to  save  him 
from  this  deed,  from  the  results  of  it,  even  though 
there  was  nothing  but  condemnation  in  her  heart  for 
him  because  of  it. 

uTo  the  left  of  the  thicket  is  a  slope,"  Mrs.  Levins 
had  told  her.  She  stopped  only  long  enough  to  get  her 
bearings,  and  at  her  panting,  "  Go  !  "  the  horse  leaped. 
They  were  at  the  crest  of  the  slope  quickly,  facing  the 
bottom,  yawning,  deep,  dark.  She  shut  her  eyes  as 
the  horse  took  it,  leaning  back  to  keep  from  falling 
over  the  animal's  head,  holding  tightly  to  the  pommel 
of  the  saddle.  They  got  down,  someway,  and  when 
she  felt  the  level  under  them  she  lashed  the  horse  again, 
and  urged  him  around  a  shoulder  of  the  precipitous 
wall  that  loomed  above  her,  frowning  and  somber. 

She  heard  a  horse  whinny  as  she  flashed  past  the 
shoulder,  her  own  beast  tearing  over  the  level  with 
great  catlike  leaps,  but  she  did  not  look  back,  strain 
ing  her  eyes  to  peer  into  the  darkness  along  the  wall 


206  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

of  the  butte  for  sight  of  the  buildings  and  machinery. 
She  saw  them  soon  after  passing  the  shoulder,  and 
exclaimed  her  thanks  sharply. 

"All  set,"  said  one  of  the  shadowy  figures  near  the 
corrugated  iron  building.  A  match  flared,  was  applied 
to  a  stick  of  punk  in  the  hands  of  each  man,  and  again 
they  separated,  each  running,  applying  the  glowing 
wand  here  and  there. 

Trevison's  work  took  him  longest,  and  when  he 
leaped  from  the  side  of  a  mound  of  supplies  Levins 
was  already  running  back  toward  the  shoulder  where 
they  had  left  their  horses.  They  joined,  then  split 
apart,  their  weapons  leaping  into  their  hands,  for  they 
heard  the  rapid  drumming  of  horse's  hoofs. 

"They're  coming!"  panted  Trevison,  his  jaws  set 
ting  as  he  plunged  on  toward  the  shoulder  of  the  butte. 
"Run  low  and  duck  at  the  flash  of  their  guns!"  he 
warned  Levins. 

A  wide  swoop  brought  the  oncoming  horse  around 
the  shoulder  of  the  butte  into  full  view.  As  the  moon 
light  shone,  momentarily,  on  the  rider,  Trevison  cried 
out,  hoarsely: 

"God,  it's  a  woman!" 

He  leaped,  at  the  words,  out  of  the  shadow  of  the 
butte  into  the  moonlight  of  the  level,  straight  into  the 
path  of  the  running  horse,  which  at  sight  of  him  slid, 
reared  and  came  to  a  halt,  snorting  and  trembling.  Trev 
ison  had  recognized  the  girl;  he  flung  himself  at  the 
horse,  muttering:  "Dynamite!"  seized  the  beast  by 
the  bridle,  forced  its  head  around  despite  the  girl's 


AND  RIDES  AGAIN— IN  VAIN        207 

objections  and  incoherent  pleadings  —  some  phrases  of 
which  sank  home,  but  were  disregarded. 

"  Don't !  "  she  cried,  fiercely,  as  he  struck  the  animal 
with  his  fist  to  accelerate  its  movements.  She  was  still 
crying  to  him,  wildly,  hysterically,  as  he  got  the  ani 
mal's  head  around  and  slapped  it  sharply  on  the  hip, 
his  pistol  crashing  at  its  heels. 

The  frightened  animal  clattered  over  the  back  trail, 
Trevison  running  after  it.  He  reached  Nigger,  flung 
himself  into  the  saddle,  and  raced  after  Levins,  who 
was  already  far  down  the  level,  following  Rosalind's 
horse.  At  a  turn  in  the  butte  he  came  upon  them  both, 
their  horses  halted,  the  girl  berating  Levins,  the  man 
laughing  lowly  at  her. 

"  Don't!"  she  cried  to  Trevison  as  he  rode  up. 
"  Please,  Trevison  —  don't  let  that  happen !  It's  crim 
inal  ;  it's  outlawry !  " 

"Too  late,"  he  said  grimly,  and  rode  close  to  her 
to  grasp  the  bridle  of  her  horse.  Standing  thus,  they 
waited  —  an  age,  to  the  girl,  in  reality  only  a  few 
seconds.  Then  the  deep,  solemn  silence  of  the  night 
was  split  by  a  hollow  roar,  which  echoed  and  re-echoed 
as  though  a  thousand  thunder  storms  had  centered  over 
their  heads.  A  vivid  flash,  extended,  effulgent,  lit  the 
sky,  the  earth  rocked,  the  canyon  walls  towering  above 
them  seemed  to  sway  and  reel  drunkenly.  The  girl 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Another  blast  smote 
the  night,  reverberating  on  the  heels  of  the  other;  there 
followed  another  and  another,  so  quickly  that  they 
blended;  then  another,  with  a  distinct  interval  between. 
Then  a  breathless,  unreal  calm,  through  which  distant 


208  "FIREBRAND"   TREVISON 

echoes  rumbled;  then  a  dead  silence,  shattered  at  last 
by  a  heavy,  distant  clatter,  as  though  myriad  big  hail 
stones  were  falling  on  a  pavement.  And  then  another 
silence  —  the  period  of  reeling  calm  after  an  earth 
quake. 

"  O  God !  "  wailed  the  girl ;  "  it  is  horrible !  " 

"  You've  got  to  get  out  of  here  —  the  whole  of 
Manti  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes !  Come  on !  " 

He  urged  Nigger  farther  down  the  canyon,  and  up 
a  rocky  slope  that  brought  them  to  the  mesa.  The 
girl  was  trembling,  her  breath  coming  gaspingly.  He 
faced  her  as  they  came  to  a  halt,  pityingly,  with  a  cer 
tain  dogged  resignation  in  his  eyes. 

"What  brought  you  here?  Who  told  you  we  were 
here?"  he  asked,  gruffly. 

"  It  doesn't  matter !  "  She  faced  him  defiantly.  "  You 
have  outraged  the  laws  of  your  country  tonight!  I 
hope  you  are  punished  for  it!  " 

He  laughed,  derisively.  "Well,  you've  seen;  you 
know.  Go  and  inform  your  friends.  What  I  have  done 
I  did  after  long  deliberation  in  which  I  considered  fully 
the  consequences  to  myself.  Levins  wasn't  concerned 
in  it,  so  you  don't  need  to  mention  his  name.  Your 
ranch  is  in  that  direction,  Miss  Benham."  He  pointed 
southeastward,  Nigger  lunged,  caught  his  stride  in  two 
or  three  jumps,  and  fled  toward  the  southwest.  His 
rider  did  not  hear  the  girl's  voice;  it  was  drowned  in 
the  clatter  of  hoofs  as  he  and  Levins  rode. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

ANOTHER  WOMAN  RIDES 

TREVISON  rode  in  to  town  the  next  morning.  On 
his  way  he  went  to  the  edge  of  the  butte  over 
looking  the  level,  and  looked  down  upon  the  wreck 
and  ruin  he  had  caused.  Masses  of  twisted  steel  and 
iron  met  his  gaze;  the  level  was  littered  with  debris, 
which  a  gang  of  men  under  Carson  was  engaged  in 
clearing  away;  a  great  section  of  the  butte  had  been 
blasted  out,  earth,  rocks,  sand,  had  slid  down  upon 
much  of  the  wreckage,  partly  burying  it.  The  utter 
havoc  of  the  scene  brought  a  fugitive  smile  to  his  lips. 

He  saw  Carson  waving  a  hand  to  him,  and  he 
answered  the  greeting,  noting  as  he  did  so  that  Cor- 
rigan  stood  at  a  little  distance  behind  Carson,  watch 
ing.  Trevison  did  not  give  him  a  second  look, 
wheeling  Nigger  and  sending  him  toward  Manti  at  a 
slow  lope.  As  he  rode  away,  Corrigan  called  to  Car 
son. 

"  Your  friend  didn't  seem  to  be  much  surprised." 

Carson  turned,  making  a  grimace  while  his  back  was 
yet  toward  Corrigan,  but  grinning  broadly  when  he 
faced  around. 

"Didn't  he  now?  I  wasn't  noticin'.  But,  begorra, 
how  c'ud  he  be  surprised,  whin  the  whole  domned 

209 


2io  "FIREBRAND"  TREPISON 

country  was  rocked  out  av  its  bed  be  the  blast !  Wud 
ye  be  expictin'  him  to  fall  over  in  a  faint  on  beholdin' 
the  wreck?" 

"Not  he,"  said  Corrigan,  coldly;  "he's  got  too 
much  nerve  for  that." 

"Ain't  he,  now!"  Carson  looked  guilelessly  at  the 
other.  "  Wud  ye  be  havin'  anny  idee  who  done  it  ?  " 

Corrigan's  eyes  narrowed.  "No,"  he  said  shortly, 
and  turned  away. 

Trevison's  appearance  in  Manti  created  a  stir.  He 
had  achieved  a  double  result  by  his  deed,  for  besides 
destroying  the  property  and  making  it  impossible  for 
Corrigan  to  resume  work  for  a  considerable  time,  he 
had  caused  Manti's  interest  to  center  upon  him  sharply, 
having  shocked  into  the  town's  consciousness  a  con 
ception  of  the  desperate  battle  that  was  being  waged 
at  its  doors.  For  Manti  had  viewed  the  devastated 
butte  early  that  morning,  and  had  come  away,  seething 
with  curiosity  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  man  whom  every 
body  secretly  suspected  of  being  the  cause  of  it.  Many 
residents  of  the  town  had  known  Trevison  before  — 
in  half  an  hour  after  his  arrival  he  was  known  to  all. 
Public  opinion  was  heavily  in  his  favor  and  many  ap 
proving  comments  were  heard. 

"I  ain't  blamin'  him  a  heap,"  said  a  man  in  the  Bcl- 
mont.  "  If  things  is  as  you  say  they  are,  there  ain't 
much  more  that  a  man  could  do !  " 

"The  laws  is  made  for  the  guys  with  the  coin  an' 
the  pull,"  said  another,  vindictively. 

"An'  dynamite  ain't  carin'  who's  usin'  it,"  said  an 
other,  slyly.  Both  grinned.  The  universal  sympathy 


ANOTHER  WOMAN  RIDES  211 

for  the  "under  dog"  oppressed  by  Justice  perverted 
or  controlled,  had  here  found  expression. 

It  was  so  all  over  Manti.  Admiring  glances  fol 
lowed  Trevison;  though  he  said  no  word  concerning 
the  incident;  nor  could  any  man  have  said,  judging 
from  the  expression  of  his  face,  that  he  was  elated. 
He  had  business  in  Manti  —  he  completed  it,  and  when 
he  was  ready  to  go  he  got  on  Nigger  and  loped  out  of 
town. 

"That  man's  nerve  is  as  cold  as  a  naked  Eskimo 
at  the  North  Pole,"  commented  an  admirer.  "If  I'd 
done  a  thing  like  that  I'd  be  layin'  low  to  see  if  any 
evidence  would  turn  up  against  me." 

"  I  reckon  there  ain't  a  heap  of  evidence,"  laughed 
his  neighbor.  "  I  expect  everybody  knows  he  done  it, 
but  knowin'  an'  provin'  is  two  different  things." 

A  mile  out  of  town  Trevison  met  Corrigan.  The 
latter  halted  his  horse  when  he  saw  Trevison  and 
waited  for  him  to  come  up.  The  big  man's  face  wore 
an  ugly,  significant  grin. 

"You  did  a  complete  job,"  he  said,  eyeing  the  other 
narrowly.  "And  there  doesn't  seem  to  be  any  evidence. 
But  look  out !  When  a  thing  like  that  happens  there's 
always  somebody  around  to  see  it,  and  if  I  can  get  evi 
dence  against  you  I'll  send  you  up  for  it ! " 

He  noted  a  slight  quickening  of  Trevison's  eyes  at 
his  mention  of  a  witness,  and  a  fierce  exultation  leaped 
within  him. 

Trevison  laughed,  looking  the  other  fairly  between 
the  eyes.  Rosalind  Benham  hadn't  informed  on  him. 
However,  the  day  was  not  yet  gone. 


212  "FIREBRAND"  TREVISON 

"Get  your  evidence  before  you  try  to  do  any  bluf 
fing,"  he  challenged.  He  spurred  Nigger  on,  not  look 
ing  back  at  his  enemy. 

Corrigan  rode  to  the  laborers*  tents,  where  he  talked 
for  a  time  with  the  cook.  In  the  mess  tent  he  stood 
with  his  back  to  a  rough,  pine-topped  table,  his  hands 
on  its  edge.  The  table  had  not  yet  been  cleared  from 
the  morning  meal,  for  the  cook  had  been  interested  in 
the  explosion.  He  tried  to  talk  of  it  with  Corrigan, 
but  the  latter  adroitly  directed  the  conversation  other 
wise.  The  cook  would  have  said  they  had  a  pleasant 
talk.  Corrigan  seemed  very  companionable  this  morn 
ing.  He  laughed  a  little;  he  listened  attentively  when 
the  cook  talked.  After  a  while  Corrigan  fumbled  in 
his  pockets.  Not  finding  a  cigar,  he  looked  eloquently 
at  the  cook's  pipe,  in  the  latter's  mouth,  belching  much 
smoke. 

"Not  a  single  cigar,"  he  said.  "I'm  dying  for  a 
taste  of  tobacco." 

The  cook  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  wiped 
the  stem  hastily  on  a  sleeve.  "  If  you  don't  mind  I've 
been  suckin'  on  it,"  he  said,  extending  it. 

"  I  wouldn't  deprive  you  of  it  for  the  world."  Cor 
rigan  shifted  his  position,  looked  down  at  the  table  and 
smiled.  "Luck,  eh?"  he  said,  picking  up  a  black  brier 
that  lay  on  the  table  behind  him.  "Got  plenty  of 
tobacco?" 

The  cook  dove  for  a  box  in  a  corner  and  returned 
with  a  cloth  sack,  bulging.  He  watched  while  Corri 
gan  filled  the  pipe,  and  grinned  while  his  guest  was 
lighting  it. 


ANOTHER  WOMAN  RIDES  213 

u  Carson'll  be  ravin'  today  for  forgettin'  his  pipe. 
Fie  must  have  left  it  layin'  on  the  table  this  mornin' 
—  him  bein'  in  such  a  rush  to  get  down  to  the  explo 


sion." 


"It's  Carson's,  eh?"  Corrigan  surveyed  it  with 
casual  interest.  "Well,"  after  taking  a  few  puffs  "  — 
I'll  say  for  Carson  that  he  knows  how  to  take  care  of 
it." 

He  left  shortly  afterward,  laying  the  pipe  on  the 
table  where  he  had  found  it.  Five  minutes  later  he  was 
in  Judge  Lindman's  presence,  leaning  over  the  desk 
toward  the  other. 

"  I  want  you  to  issue  a  warrant  for  Patrick  Carson. 
I  want  him  brought  in  here  for  examination.  Charge 
him  with  being  an  accessory  before  the  fact,  or  any 
thing  that  seems  to  fit  the  case.  But  throw  him  into 
the  cooler  —  and  keep  him  there  until  he  talks.  He 
knows  who  broke  into  the  dynamite  shed,  and  there 
fore  he  knows  who  did  the  dynamiting.  He's  friendly 
with  Trevison,  and  if  we  can  make  him  admit  he  saw 
Trevison  at  the  shed,  we've  got  the  goods.  He  warned 
Trevison  the  other  day,  when  I  had  the  deputies  lined 
up  at  the  butte,  and  I  found  his  pipe  this  morning  near 
the  door  of  the  dynamite  shed.  We'll  make  him  talk, 
damn  him !  " 

Banker  Braman  had  closed  the  door  between  the 
front  and  rear  rooms,  pulled  down  the  shades  of  the 
windows,  lighted  the  kerosene  lamp,  and  by  its  waver 
ing  flicker  was  surveying  his  reflection  in  the  small  mir 
ror  affixed  to  one  of  the  walls  of  the  building.  He  was 


2i4  "FIREBRAND"   TREASON 

pleased,  as  the  fatuous  self-complacence  of  his  look 
indicated,  and  carefully,  almost  fastidiously  dressed, 
and  he  could  not  deny  himself  this  last  look  into  the 
mirror,  even  though  he  was  now  five  minutes  late  with 
his  appointment.  The  five  minutes  threatened  to 
become  ten,  for,  in  adjusting  his  tie-pin  it  slipped  from 
his  fingers,  struck  the  floor  and  vanished,  as  though  an 
evil  fate  had  gobbled  it. 

He  searched  for  it  frenziedly,  cursing  lowly,  but  none 
the  less  viciously.  It  was  quite  by  accident  that  when 
his  patience  was  strained  almost  to  the  breaking  point, 
he  struck  his  hand  against  a  board  that  formed  part 
of  the  partition  between  his  building  and  the  court 
house  next  door,  and  tore  a  huge  chunk  of  skin  from 
the  knuckles.  He  paid  little  attention  to  the  injury, 
however,  for  the  agitating  of  the  board  disclosed  the 
glittering  recreant,  and  he  pounced  upon  it  with  the 
precision  of  a  hawk  upon  its  prey,  snarling  trium 
phantly. 

u I'll  nail  that  damned  board  up,  some  day!"  he 
threatened.  But  he  knew  he  wouldn't,  for  by  lying  on 
the  floor  and  pulling  the  board  out  a  trifle,  he  could  get 
a  clear  view  of  the  interior  of  the  courthouse,  and 
could  hear  quite  plainly,  in  spite  of  the  presence  of  a 
wooden  box  resting  against  the  wall  on  the  other  side. 
And  some  of  the  things  that  Braman  had  already  heard 
through  the  medium  of  the  loose  board  were  really 
interesting,  not  to  say  instructive,  to  him. 

He  was  ten  minutes  late  in  keeping  his  appointment. 
He  might  have  been  even  later  without  being  in  danger 
of  receiving  the  censure  he  deserved.  For  the  lady 


ANOTHER  WOMAN  RIDES  215 

received  him  in  a  loose  wrapper  and  gracefully  dis 
ordered  hair,  a  glance  at  which  made  Braman  gasp  in 
unfeigned  admiration. 

"  What's  this?"  he  demanded  with  a  pretense  of 
fatherly  severity,  which  he  imagined  became  him  very 
well  in  the  presence  of  women.  "  Not  ready  yet,  Mrs. 
Harvey?" 

The  woman  waved  him  to  a  chair  with  unsmiling 
unconcern;  dropped  into  another,  crossed  her  legs  and 
leaned  back  in  her  chair,  her  hands  folded  across  the 
back  of  her  head,  her  sleeves,  wide  and  flaring,  sliding 
down  below  her  elbows.  She  caught  Braman's  burn 
ing  stare  of  interest  in  this  revelation  of  negligence, 
and  smiled  at  him  in  faint  derision. 

"I'm  tired,  Croft.  I've  changed  my  mind  about 
going  to  the  First  Merchants'  Ball.  I'd  much  rather 
sit  here  and  chin  you  —  if  you  don't  mind." 

"Not  a  bit!"  hastily  acquiesced  the  banker.  "In 
fact,  I  like  the  idea  of  staying  here  much  better.  It  is 
more  private,  you  know."  He  grinned  significantly, 
but  the  woman's  smile  of  faint  derision  changed  merely 
to  irony,  which  held  steadily,  making  Braman's  cheeks 
glow  crimson. 

"Well,  then,"  she  laughed,  exulting  in  her  power 
over  him;  "let's  get  busy.  What  do  you  want  to  chin 
about?" 

"I'll  tell  you  after  I've  wet  my  whistle,"  said  the 
banker,  gayly.  "  Im  dry  as  a  bone  in  the  middle  of 
the  Sahara  desert!" 

"  I'll  take  mine  '  straight,'  "  she  laughed. 

Braman  rang  a  bell.     A  waiter  with  glasses  and  a 


216  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

bottle  appeared,  entered,  was  paid,  and  departed,  grin 
ning  without  giving  the  banker  any  change  from  a  ten 
dollar  bill. 

The  woman  laughed  immoderately  at  Braman's  wolf 
ish  snarl. 

"  Be  a  sport,  Croft.  Don't  begrudge  a  poor  waiter 
a  few  honestly  earned  dollars !  " 

"And  now,  what  has  the  loose-board  telephone  told 
you?"  she  asked,  two  hours  later  when  flushed  of  face 
from  frequent  attacks  on  the  bottle  —  Braman  rather 
more  flushed  than  she  —  they  relaxed  in  their  chairs 
after  a  tilt  at  poker  in  which  the  woman  had  been  the 
victor. 

"  You're  sure  you  don't  care  for  Trevison  any  more 
—  that  you're  only  taking  his  end  of  this  because  of 
what  he's  been  to  you  in  the  past?"  demanded  the 
banker,  looking  suspiciously  at  her. 

"  He  told  me  he  didn't  love  me  any  more.  I  couldn't 
want  him  after  that,  could  I?" 

"  I  should  think  not."  Braman's  eyes  glowed  with 
satisfaction.  But  he  hesitated,  yielding  when  she 
smiled  at  him.  u  Damn  it,  I'd  knife  Corrigan  for  you !  " 
he  vowed,  recklessly. 

"Save  Trevison  —  that's  all  I  ask.  Tell  me  what 
you  heard." 

"  Corrigan  suspects  Trevison  of  blowing  up  the  stuff 
at  the  butte  —  as  everybody  does,  of  course.  He's 
determined  to  get  evidence  against  him.  He  found 
Carson's  pipe  at  the  door  of  the  dynamite  shed  this 
morning.  Carson  is  a  friend  of  Trevison's.  Corri 
gan  is  going  to  have  Judge  Lindman  issue  a  warrant 


ANOTHER  WOMAN  RIDES  217 

for  the  arrest  of  Carson  —  on  some  charge  —  and 
they're  going  to  jail  Carson  until  he  talks." 

The  woman  cursed  profanely,  sharply.  "That's 
Corrigan's  idea  of  a  square  deal.  He  promised  me 
that  no  harm  should  come  to  Trevison."  She  got  up 
and  walked  back  and  forth  in  the  room,  Braman  watch 
ing  her  with  passion  lying  naked  in  his  eyes,  his  lips 
loose  and  moist. 

She  stopped  in  front  of  him,  finally.  "  Go  home, 
Croft  —  there's  a  good  boy.  I  want  to  think." 

"That's  cruelty  to  animals,"  he  laughed  in  a  strained 
voice.  "  But  I'll  go,"  he  added  at  signs  of  displeas 
ure  on  her  face.  "  Can  I  see  you  tomorrow  night  ?  " 

44  I'll  let  you  know."  She  held  the  door  open  for  him, 
and  permitted  him  to  take  her  hand  for  an  instant. 
He  squeezed  it  hotly,  the  woman  making  a  grimace  of 
repugnance  as  she  closed  the  door. 

Swiftly  she  changed  from  her  loose  gown  to  a  sim 
ple,  short-skirted  affair,  slipped  on  boots,  a  felt  hat, 
gloves.  Leaving  the  light  burning,  she  slipped  out  into 
the  hall  and  called  to  the  waiter  who  had  served  her 
and  Braman.  By  rewarding  him  generously  she  pro 
cured  a  horse,  and  a  few  minutes  later  she  emerged 
from  the  building  by  a  rear  door,  mounting  the  animal 
and  sending  it  clattering  out  into  the  night. 

Twice  she  lost  her  way  and  rode  miles  before  she 
recovered  her  sense  of  direction,  and  when  she  finally 
pulled  the  beast  to  a  halt  at  the  edge  of  the  Diamond  K 
ranchhouse  gallery,  midnight  was  not  far  away.  The 
ranchhouse  was  dark.  She  smothered  a  gasp  of  disap 
pointment  as  she  crossed  the  gallery  floor.  She  was 


2i 8  "FIREBRAND"   TREASON 

about  to  hammer  on  the  door  when  it  swung  open  and 
Trevison  stepped  out,  peered  closely  at  her  and  laughed 
shortly. 

"It's  you,  eh?"  he  said.    " I  thought  I  told  you  —  " 

She  winced  at  his  tone,  but  it  did  not  lessen  her  con 
cern  for  him. 

"  It  isn't  that,  Trev !  And  I  don't  care  how  you  treat 
me  —  I  deserve  it!  But  I  can't  see  them  punish  you  — 
for  what  you  did  last  night!"  She  felt  him  start,  his 
muscles  stiffen. 

"  Something  has  turned  up,  then.  You  came  to  warn 
me?  What  is  it?" 

"You  were  seen  last  night!  They're  going  to 
arrest  —  " 

"So  she  squealed,  did  she?"  he  interrupted.  He 
laughed  lowly,  bitterly,  with  a  vibrant  disappointment 
that  wrung  the  woman's  heart  with  sympathy.  But  her 
brain  quickly  grasped  the  significance  of  his  words,  and 
longing  dulled  her  sense  of  honor.  It  was  too  good 
an  opportunity  to  miss.  "  Bah !  I  expected  it.  She 
told  me  she  would.  I  was  a  fool  to  dream  otherwise !  " 
He  turned  on  Hester  and  grasped  her  by  the  shoulders, 
and  her  flesh  deadened  under  his  fingers. 

"Did  she  tell  Corrigan?" 

"Yes."  The  woman  told  the  lie  courageously,  look 
ing  straight  into  his  eyes,  though  she  shrank  at  the 
fire  that  came  into  them  as  he  released  her  and  laughed. 

"  Where  did  you  get  your  information  ?  "  His  voice 
was  suddenly  sullen  and  cold. 

"From  Braman." 

He    started,    and   laughed    in    humorous    derision. 


ANOTHER  WOMAN  RIDES  219 

"  Braman  and  Corrigan  are  blood  brothers  in  this  deal. 
You  must  have  captivated  the  little  sneak  completely 
to  make  him  lose  his  head  like  that !  " 

"I  did  it  for  you,  Trev  —  for  you.  Don't  you  see? 
Oh,  I  despise  the  little  beast !  But  he  dropped  a  hint 
one  day  when  I  was  in  the  bank,  and  I  deliberately 
snared  him,  hoping  I  might  be  able  to  gain  information 
that  would  benefit  you.  And  I  have,  Trev!"  she 
added,  trembling  with  a  hope  that  his  hasty  judgment 
might  result  to  her  advantage.  And  how  near  she 
had  come  to  mentioning  Carson's  name !  If  Trevison 
had  waited  for  just  another  second  before  interrupt 
ing  her!  Fortune  had  played  favorably  into  her  hands 
tonight ! 

"  For  you,  boy,"  she  said,  slipping  close  to  him,  sin 
uously,  whispering,  knowing  the  "  she  "  he  had  men 
tioned  must  be  Rosalind  Benham.  "  Old  friends  are 
best,  boy.  At  least  they  can  be  depended  upon  not  to 
betray  one.  Trev;  let  me  help  you !  I  can,  and  I  will ! 
Why,  I  love  you,  Trev !  And  you  need  me,  to  help 
you  fight  these  people  who  are  trying  to  ruin  you !  " 

"  You  don't  understand."  Trevison's  voice  was  cold 
and  passionless.  "  It  seems  I  can't  make  you  under 
stand.  I'm  grateful  for  what  you  have  done  for  me 
tonight  —  very  grateful.  But  I  can't  live  a  lie,  woman. 
I  don't  love  you !  " 

"  But  you  love  a  woman  who  has  delivered  you  into 
the  hands  of  your  enemies,"  she  moaned. 

"I  can't  help  it,"  he  declared  hoarsely.  "I  don't 
deny  it.  I  would  love  her  if  she  sent  me  to  the  gal 
lows,  and  stood  there,  watching  me  die!" 


220  "FIREBRAND"   TREFI8ON 

The  woman  bowed  her  head,  and  dropped  her  hands 
listlessly  to  her  sides.  In  this  instant  she  was  thinking 
almost  the  same  words  that  Rosalind  Benham  had  mur 
mured  on  her  ride  to  Blakeley's,  when  she  had  discov 
ered  Trevison's  identity:  "I  wonder  if  Hester  Keyes 
knows  what  she  has  missed.'* 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  MAN  ERRS AND  PAYS 

FOR  a  time  Trevison  stood  on  the  gallery,  watching 
the  woman  as  she  faded  into  the  darkness  toward 
Manti,  and  then  he  laughed  mirthlessly  and  went  into 
the  house,  emerging  with  a  rifle  and  saddle.  A  few  min 
utes  later  he  rode  Nigger  out  of  the  corral  and  headed 
him  southwestward.  Shortly  after  midnight  he  was 
at  the  door  of  Levins'  cabin.  The  latter  grinned  with 
feline  humor  after  they  held  a  short  conference. 

"That's  right,"  he  said;  uyou  don't  need  any  of 
the  boys  to  help  you  pull  that  off  —  they'd  mebbe  go 
to  actin'  foolish  an'  give  the  whole  snap  away.  Besides, 
I'm  a  heap  tickled  to  be  let  in  on  that  sort  of  a  jam 
boree  ! "  There  followed  an  interval,  during  which 
his  grin  faded.  "  So  she  peached  on  you,  eh?  She 
told  my  woman  she  wouldn't.  That's  a  woman,  ain't 
it?  How's  a  man  to  tell  about  'em?" 

"That's  a  secret  of  my  own  that  I  am  not  ready  to 
let  you  in  on.  Don't  tell  your  wife  where  you  are  going 
tonight." 

"I  ain't  reckonin'  to.  I'll  be  with  you  in  a  jiffy!" 
He  vanished  into  the  cabin,  reappeared,  ran  to  the  sta 
ble,  and  rode  out  to  meet  Trevison.  Together  they 
were  swallowed  up  by  the  plains. 

221 


222  "FIREBRAND"   TREASON 

At  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  Corrigan  came  out 
of  the  dining-room  of  his  hotel  and  stopped  at  the 
cigar  counter.  He  filled  his  case,  lit  one,  and  stood 
for  a  moment  with  an  elbow  on  the  glass  of  the  show 
case,  smoking  thoughtfully. 

"That  was  quite  an  accident  you  had  at  your  mine. 
Have  you  any  idea  who  did  it?  "  asked  the  clerk,  watch 
ing  him  furtively. 

Corrigan  glanced  at  the  man,  his  lips  curling. 

'  You  might  guess,"  he  said  through  his  teeth. 

"  That  fellow  Trevison  is  a  bad  actor,"  continued 
the  clerk.  "And  say,"  he  went  on,  confidentially;  "not 
that  I  want  to  make  you  feel  bad,  but  the  majority  of 
the  people  of  this  town  are  standing  with  him  in  this 
deal.  They  think  you  are  not  giving  the  land-owners 
a  square  deal.  Not  that  I'm  *  knocking '  you"  the 
clerk  denied,  flushing  at  the  dark  look  Corrigan  threw 
him.  "That's  merely  what  I  hear.  Personally,  I'm 
for  you.  This  town  needs  men  like  you,  and  it  can 
get  along  without  fellows  like  Trevison." 

"Thank  you,"  smiled  Corrigan,  disgusted  with  the 
man,  but  feeling  that  it  might  be  well  to  cultivate  such 
ingratiating  interest.  "Have  a  cigar." 

"I'll  go  you.  Yes,  sir,"  he  added,  when  he  had  got 
the  weed  going;  "this  town  can  get  along  without  any 
Trevisons.  These  sagebrush  rummies  out  here  give 
me  a  pain.  What  this  country  needs  is  less  brute  force 
and  more  brains ! "  He  drew  his  shoulders  erect  as 
though  convinced  that  he  was  not  lacking  in  the  par 
ticular  virtue  to  which  he  had  referred. 

"  You  are  right,"  smiled  Corrigan,  mildly.    "  Brains 


A  MAN  ERRS  — AND  PAYS  223 

are  all  important.  A  hotel  clerk  must  be  well  supplied. 
I  presume  you  see  and  hear  a  great  many  things  that 
other  people  miss  seeing  and  hearing."  Corrigan 
thought  this  thermometer  of  public  opinion  might  have 
other  information. 

"  You've  said  it !  We've  got  to  keep  our  wits  about 
us.  There's  very  little  escapes  us."  He  leered  at  Cor- 
rigan's  profile.  "That's  a  swell  Moll  in  number 
eleven,  ain't  it?" 

"What  do  you  know  about  her?"  Corrigan's  face 
was  inexpressive. 

"  Oh  say  now !  "  The  clerk  guffawed  close  to  Corri 
gan's  ear  without  making  the  big  man  wink  an  eyelash. 
"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  ain't  on!  I  saw 
you  steer  to  her  room  one  night  —  the  night  she  came 
here.  And  once  or  twice,  since.  But  of  course  us 
hotel  clerks  don't  see  anything!  She  is  down  on  the 
register  as  Mrs.  Harvey.  But  say!  You  don't  see 
any  married  women  running  around  the  country  dressed 
like  her!" 

"She  may  be  a  widow." 

"Well,  yes,  maybe  she  might.  But  she  shows  speed, 
don't  she?"  He  whispered.  "You're  a  pretty  good 
friend  of  mine,  now,  and  maybe  if  I'd  give  you  a  tip 
you'd  throw  something  in  my  way  later  on  —  eh?" 

"What?" 

"Oh,  you  might  start  a  hotel  here  —  or  something. 
And  I'm  thinking  of  blowing  this  joint.  This  town's 
booming,  and  it  can  stand  a  swell  hotel  in  a  few 
months." 

"You're  on  — if  I  build  a  hotel.     Shoot!" 


224  "FIREBRAND"   TREASON 

The  clerk  leaned  closer,  whispering:  "  She  receives 
other  men.  You're  not  the  only  one." 

"Who?" 

The  clerk  laughed,  and  made  a  funnel  of  one  hand. 
"The  banker  across  the  street — Braman." 

Corrigan  bit  his  cigar  in  two,  and  slowly  spat  that 
which  was  left  in  his  mouth  into  a  cuspidor.  He  con 
trived  to  smile,  though  it  cost  him  an  effort,  and  his 
hands  were  clenched. 

"How  many  times  has  he  been  here?" 

"Oh,  several." 

"When  was  he  here  last?" 

"Last  night."  The  clerk  laughed.  "Looked  half 
stewed  when  he  left.  Kinda  hectic,  too.  Him  and  her 
must  have  had  a  tiff,  for  he  left  early.  And  after  he'd 
gone  —  right  away  after  —  she  sent  one  of  the  waiters 
out  for  a  horse." 

"Which  way  did  she  go?" 

"West — I  watched  her;  she  went  the  back  way, 
from  here." 

Corrigan  smiled  and  went  out.  The  expression  of 
his  face  was  such  as  to  cause  the  clerk  to  mutter, 
dazedly:  "He  didn't  seem  to  be  a  whole  lot  inter 
ested.  I  guess  I  must  have  sized  him  up  wrong." 

Corrigan  stopped  at  his  office  in  the  bank,  nodding 
curtly  to  Braman.  Shortly  afterward  he  got  up  and 
went  to  the  courthouse.  He  had  ordered  Judge  Lind- 
man  to  issue  a  warrant  for  Carson  the  previous  morn 
ing,  and  had  intended  to  see  that  it  was  served.  But  a 
press  of  other  matters  had  occupied  his  attention  until 
late  in  the  night. 


A  MAN  ERRS— AND  PAYS  225 

He  tried  the  front  door  of  the  courthouse,  to  find 
it  locked.  The  rear  door  was  also  locked.  He  tried 
the  windows  —  all  were  fastened  securely.  Thinking 
the  Judge  still  sleeping  he  went  back  to  his  office  and 
spent  an  hour  going  over  some  correspondence.  At 
the  end  of  that  time  he  visited  the  courthouse  again. 
Angered,  he  went  around  to  the  side  and  burst  the 
flimsy  door  in,  standing  in  the  opening,  glowering,  for 
the  Judge's  cot  was  empty,  and  the  Judge  nowhere  to 
be  seen. 

Corrigan  stalked  through  the  building,  cursing.  He 
examined  the  cot,  and  discovered  that  it  had  been  slept 
in.  The  Judge  must  have  risen  early.  Obviously, 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait.  Corrigan  did  that, 
impatiently.  For  a  long  time  he  sat  in  the  chair  at 
his  desk,  watching  Braman,  studying  him,  scowling, 
rage  in  his  heart.  "  If  he's  up  to  any  dirty  work, 
I'll  choke  him  until  his  tongue  hangs  out  a  yard!"  was 
a  mental  threat  that  he  repeated  many  times.  "  But 
he's  just  mush-headed  over  the  woman,  I  guess  —  he's 
that  kind  of  a  fool!" 

At  ten  o'clock  Corrigan  jumped  on  his  horse  and 
rode  out  to  the  butte  where  the  laborers  were  working, 
clearing  away  the  debris  from  the  explosion.  No  one 
there  had  seen  Judge  Lindman.  Corrigan  rode  back 
to  town,  fuming  with  rage.  Finding  some  of  the  depu 
ties  he  sent  them  out  to  search  for  the  Judge.  One 
by  one  they  came  in  and  reported  their  failure.  At 
six-thirty,  after  the  arrival  of  the  evening  train  from 
Dry  Bottom,  Corrigan  was  sitting  at  his  desk,  his  face 
black  with  wrath,  reading  for  the  third  or  fourth  time 


226  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

a  letter  that  he  had  spread  out  on  the  desk  before 
him: 

"  MR.  JEFFERSON  CORRIGAN  : 

I  feel  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  take  a  short  rest. 
Recent  excitement  in  Manti  has  left  me  very  nervous 
and  unstrung.  I  shall  be  away  from  Manti  for  about 
two  weeks,  I  think.  During  my  absence  any  pending 
litigation  must  be  postponed,  of  course. " 

The  letter  was  signed  by  Judge  Lindman,  and  post 
marked  "Dry  Bottom." 

Corrigan  got  up  after  a  while  and  stuffed  the  letter 
into  a  pocket.  He  went  out,  and  when  he  returned, 
Braman  had  gone  out  also  —  to  supper,  Corrigan  sur 
mised.  When  the  banker  came  in  an  hour  later,  Cor 
rigan  was  still  seated  at  his  desk.  The  banker  smiled 
at  him,  and  Corrigan  motioned  to  him. 

Corrigan's  voice  was  silky.  "Where  were  you  last 
night,  Braman?" 

The  banker's  face  whitened;  his  thoughts  became 
confused,  but  instantly  cleared  when  he  observed  from 
the  expression  of  the  big  man's  face  that  the  question 
was,  apparently,  a  casual  one.  But  he  drew  his  breath 
tremulously.  One  could  never  be  sure  of  Corrigan. 

"I  spent  the  night  here  —  in  the  back  room." 

"  Then  you  didn't  see  the  Judge  last  night  —  or  hear 
him?" 

"No." 

Corrigan  drew  the  Judge's  letter  from  the  pocket 
and  passed  it  over  to  Braman,  watching  his  face  stead- 


A  MAN  ERRS  — AND  PAYS  227 

ily  as  he  read.  He  saw  a  quick  stain  appear  in  the 
banker's  cheeks,  and  his  own  lips  tightened. 

The  banker  coughed  before  he  spoke.  "  Wasn't 
that  a  rather  abrupt  leave-taking?" 

"  Yes  —  rather,"  said  Corrigan,  dryly.  "  You  didn't 
hear  him  walking  about  during  the  night?" 

"No." 

"You're  rather  a  heavy  sleeper,  eh?  There  is  only 
a  thin  board  partition  between  this  building  and  the 
courthouse." 

"  He  must  have  left  after  daylight.  Of  course,  any 
noise  he  might  have  made  after  that  I  wouldn't  have 
noticed." 

"No,  of  course  not,"  said  Corrigan,  passionlessly. 
"Well  —  he's  gone."  He  seemed  to  have  dismissed 
the  matter  from  his  mind  and  Braman  sighed  with 
relief.  But  he  watched  Corrigan  narrowly  during  the 
remainder  of  the  time  he  stayed  in  the  office,  and  when 
he  went  out,  Braman  shook  a  vindictive  fist  at  his 
back. 

"Worry,  damn  you!"  he  sneered.  "I  don't  know 
what  was  in  Judge  Lindman's  mind,  but  I  hope  he 
never  comes  back!  That  will  help  to  repay  you  for 
that  knockdown ! " 

Corrigan  went  over  to  the  Castle  and  ate  supper. 
He  was  preoccupied  and  deliberate,  for  he  was  trying 
to  weave  a  complete  fabric  out  of  the  threads  of  Bra- 
man's  visits  to  Hester  Harvey;  Hester's  ride  westward, 
and  Judge  Lindman's  abrupt  departure.  He  had  a  feel 
ing  that  they  were  in  some  way  connected. 

At  a  little  after  seven  he  finished  his  meal,  went 


228  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

upstairs  and  knocked  at  the  door  of  Hester  Harvey's 
room.  He  stepped  inside  when  she  opened  the  door, 
and  stood,  both  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his  trousers, 
looking  at  her  with  a  smile  of  repressed  malignance. 

"Nice  night  for  a  ride,  wasn't  it?"  he  said,  his 
lips  parting  a  very  little  to  allow  the  words  to  filter 
through. 

The  woman  flashed  a  quick,  inquiring  look  at  him, 
saw  the  passion  in  his  eyes,  the  gleam  of  malevolent 
antagonism,  and  she  set  herself  against  it.  For  her 
talk  with  Trevison  last  night  had  convinced  her  of  the 
futility  of  hope.  She  had  gone  out  of  his  life  as  a 
commonplace  incident  slips  into  the  oblivion  of  yes 
teryear.  Worse  —  he  had  refused  to  recall  it.  It  hurt 
her,  this  knowledge  —  his  rebuff.  It  had  aroused  cold, 
wanton  passions  in  her  —  she  had  become  a  woman 
who  did  not  care.  She  met  Corrigan's  gaze  with  a 
look  of  defiant  mockery. 

"  Swell.  I  enjoyed  every  minute  of  it.  Won't  you 
sit  down? " 

He  held  himself  back,  grinning  coldly,  for  the  wom 
an's  look  had  goaded  him  to  fury. 

"No,"  he  said;  "I'll  stand.  I  won't  be  here  a  min 
ute.  You  saw  Trevison  last  night,  eh?  You  warned 
him  that  I  was  going  to  have  Carson  arrested."  He 
had  hazarded  this  guess,  for  it  had  seemed  to  him  that 
it  must  be  the  solution  to  the  mystery,  and  when  he 
caught  the  quick,  triumphant  light  in  the  woman's  eyes 
at  his  words  he  knew  he  had  not  erred. 

"  Yes,"  she  said;  "  I  saw  him,  and  I  told  him  —  what 
Braman  told  me."  She  saw  his  eyes  glitter  and  she 


A  MAN  ERRS  — AND  PAYS  229 

laughed  harshly.  "  That's  what  you  wanted  to  know, 
isn't  it,  Jeff  — what  Braman  told  me?  Well,  you 
know  it.  I  knew  you  couldn't  play  square  with  me. 
You  thought  you  could  dupe  me  —  again ,  didn't  you? 
Well,  you  didn't,  for  I  snared  Braman  and  pumped 
him  dry.  He's  kept  me  posted  on  your  movements; 
and  his  little  board  telephone —  Ha,  ha!  that  makes 
you  squirm,  doesn't  it?  But  it  was  all  wasted  effort  — 
Trevison  won't  have  me  —  he's  through.  And  I'm 
through.  I'm  not  going  to  try  any  more.  I'm  going 
back  East,  after  I  get  rested.  You  fight  it  out  with 
Trevison.  But  I  warn  you,  he'll  beat  you  —  and  I 
wish  he  would!  As  for  that  beast,  Braman,  I  wish  — 
Ah,  let  him  go,  Jeff,"  she  advised,  noting  the  cold  fury 
in  his  eyes. 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  said  with  a  dry  laugh.  "  You 
and  Braman  have  done  well.  It  hasn't  done  me  any 
harm,  and  so  we'll  forget  about  it.  What  do  you  say 
to  having  a  drink  —  and  a  talk.  As  in  old  times, 
eh?"  He  seemed  suddenly  to  have  conquered  his 
passion,  but  the  queer  twitching  of  his  lips  warned 
the  woman,  and  when  he  essayed  to  move  toward  her, 
smiling  pallidly,  she  darted  to  the  far  side  of  a  stand 
near  the  center  of  the  room,  pulled  out  a  drawer,  pro 
duced  a  small  revolver  and  leveled  it  at  him,  her  eyes 
wide  and  glittering  with  menace. 

"  Stay  where  you  are,  Jeff !  "  she  ordered.  "  There's 
murder  in  your  heart,  and  I  know  it.  But  I  don't  intend 
to  be  the  victim.  I'll  shoot  if  you  come  one  step 
nearer! " 

He  smirked  at  her,  venomously.     "All  right,"  he 


23o  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

said.     "  You're  wise.     But  get  out  of  town  on  the  next 


train." 


"  I'll  go  when  I  get  ready — you  can't  scare  me.  Let 
me  alone  or  I'll  go  to  Rosalind  Benham  and  let  her 
in  on  the  whole  scheme." 

"  Yes  you  will  —  not,"  he  laughed.  "  If  I  know  any 
thing  about  you,  you  won't  do  anything  that  would 
give  Miss  Benham  to  Trevison." 

"That's  right;  I'd  rather  see  her  married  to  you  — 
that  would  be  the  refinement  of  cruelty! " 

He  laughed  sneeringly  and  stepped  out  of  the  door. 
Waiting  a  short  time,  the  woman  heard  his  step  in  the 
hall.  Then  she  darted  to  the  door,  locked  it,  and  leaned 
against  it,  panting. 

"I've  done  it  now,"  she  murmured.  "Braman — 
Well,  it  serves  him  right ! " 

Corrigan  stopped  in  the  barroom  and  got  a  drink. 
Then  he  walked  to  the  front  door  and  stood  in  it  for 
an  instant,  finally  stepping  down  into  the  street.  Across 
the  street  in  the  banking  room  he  saw  a  thin  streak 
of  light  gleaming  through  a  crevice  in  the  doorway 
that  led  from  the  banking  room  to  the  rear.  The 
light  told  him  that  Braman  was  in  the  rear  room. 
Selecting  a  moment  when  the  street  in  his  vicinity  was 
deserted,  Corrigan  deliberately  crossed,  standing  for 
a  moment  in  the  shadow  of  the  bank  building,  looking 
around  him.  Then  he  slipped  around  the  building  and 
tapped  cautiously  on  the  rear  door.  An  instant  later 
he  was  standing  inside  the  room,  his  back  against  the 
door. 


A  MAN  ERRS— AND  PAYS  231 

Braman,  arrayed  as  he  had  been  the  night  before, 
had  opened  the  door.  He  had  been  just  ready  to 
go  when  he  heard  Corrigan's  knock. 

u Going  out,  Croft?"  said  Corrigan  pleasantly,  eye 
ing  the  other  intently.  "All  lit  up,  too!  You're  get 
ting  to  be  a  gay  dog,  lately." 

There  was  nothing  in  Corrigan's  bantering  words 
to  bring  on  that  sudden  qualm  of  sickening  fear  that 
seized  the  banker.  He  knew  it  was  his  guilt  that  had 
done  it  —  guilt  and  perhaps  a  dread  of  Corrigan's 
rage  if  he  should  learn  of  his  duplicity.  But  that  word 
"  lately  "  !  If  it  had  been  uttered  with  any  sort  of  an 
accent  he  might  have  been  suspicious.  But  it  had  come 
with  the  bantering  ring  of  the  others,  with  no  hint 
of  special  significance.  And  Braman  was  reassured. 

"  Yes,  I'm  going  out."  He  turned  to  the  mirror  on 
the  wall.  "  I'm  getting  rather  stale,  hanging  around 
here  so  much." 

"That's  right,  Croft.  Have  a  good  time.  How 
much  money  is  there  in  the  safe?" 

"Two  or  three  thousand  dollars."  The  banker 
turned  from  the  glass.  "Want  some?  Ha,  ha!"  he 
laughed  at  the  other's  short  nod;  "there  are  other  gay 
dogs,  I  guess!  How  much  do  you  want?" 

"  All  you Ve  got?" 

"All!  Jehoshaphat !  You  must  have  a  big  deal  on 
tonight ! " 

"Yes,  big,"  said  Corrigan  evenly.     "Get  it." 

He  followed  the  banker  into  the  banking  room,  care 
fully  closing  the  door  behind  him,  so  that  the  light 
from  the  rear  room  could  not  penetrate.  "That's  all 


232  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

right,"  he  reassured  the  banker  as  the  latter  noticed 
the  action;  "  this  isn't  a  public  matter." 

He  stuffed  his  pockets  with  the  money  the  banker 
gave  him,  and  when  the  other  tried  to  close  the  door 
of  the  safe  he  interposed  a  restraining  hand,  laugh 
ing: 

"  Leave  it  open,  Croft.  It's  empty  now,  and  a  cracks 
man  trying  to  get  into  it  would  ruin  a  perfectly  good 
safe,  for  nothing." 

"That's  right." 

They  went  into  the  rear  room  again,  Corrigan  last, 
closing  the  door  behind  him.  Braman  went  again  to 
the  glass,  Corrigan  standing  silently  behind  him. 

Standing  before  the  glass,  the  banker  was  seized 
with  a  repetition  of  the  sickening  fear  that  had 
oppressed  him  at  Corrigan's  words  upon  his  entrance. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  there  was  a  sinister  significance 
behind  Corrigan's  present  silence.  A  tension  came 
between  them,  portentous  of  evil.  Braman  shivered, 
but  the  silence  held.  The  banker  tried  to  think  of 
something  to  say  —  his  thoughts  were  rioting  in  chaos, 
a  dumb,  paralyzing  terror  had  seized  him,  his  lips 
stuck  together,  the  facial  muscles  refusing  their  office. 
He  dropped  his  hands  to  his  sides  and  stared  into  the 
glass,  noting  the  ghastly  pallor  that  had  come  over 
his  face  —  the  dull,  whitish  yellow  of  muddy  marble. 
He  could  not  turn,  his  legs  were  quivering.  He  knew 
it  was  conscience  —  only  that.  And  yet  Corrigan's 
ominous  silence  continued.  And  now  he  caught  his 
breath  with  a  shuddering  gasp,  for  he  saw  Corrigan's 
face  reflected  in  the  glass,  looking  over  his  shoulder  — 


A  MAN  ERRS— AND  PAYS  233 

a  mirthless  smirk  on  it,  the  eyes  cold,  and  dancing  with 
a  merciless  and  cunning  purpose.  While  he  watched, 
he  saw  Corrigan's  lips  open: 

"Where's  the  board  telephone,  Braman?" 
The  banker  wheeled,  then.  He  tried  to  scream  — 
the  sound  died  in  a  gasping  gurgle  as  Corrigan  leaped 
and  throttled  him.  Later,  he  fought  to  loosen  the  grip 
of  the  iron  fingers  at  his  throat,  twisting,  squirming, 
threshing  about  the  room  in  his  agony.  The  grip  held, 
tightened.  When  the  banker  was  quite  still  Corrigan 
put  out  the  light,  went  into  the  banking  room,  where 
he  scattered  the  papers  and  books  in  the  safe  all  around 
the  room.  Then  he  twisted  the  lock  off  the  door,  using 
an  iron  bar  that  he  had  noticed  in  a  corner  when  he 
had  come  in,  and  stepped  out  into  the  shadow  of  the 
building. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

FIRST   PRINCIPLES 

JUDGE  LINDMAN  shivered,  though  a  merciless, 
blighting  sun  beat  down  on  the  great  stone  ledge 
that  spread  in  front  of  the  opening,  smothering  him 
with  heat  waves  that  eddied  in  and  out,  and  though  the 
interior  of  the  low-ceilinged  chamber  pulsed  with  the 
fetid  heat  sucked  in  from  the  plains  generations  before. 
The  adobe  walls,  gray-black  in  the  subdued  light,  were 
dry  as  powder  and  crumbling  in  spots,  the  stone  floor 
was  exposed  in  many  places;  there  was  a  strange,  sick 
ening  odor,  as  though  the  naked,  perspiring  bodies  of 
inhabitants  in  ages  past  had  soaked  the  walls  and  floor 
with  the  man-scent,  and  intervening  years  of  disuse 
had  mingled  their  musty  breath  with  it.  But  for  the 
presence  of  the  serene-faced,  steady-eyed  young  man  who 
leaned  carelessly  against  the  wall  outside,  whose  shoul 
der  and  profile  he  could  see,  the  Judge  might  have 
yielded  completely  to  the  overpowering  conviction  that 
he  was  dreaming,  and  that  his  adventures  of  the  past 
twelve  hours  were  horrors  of  his  imagination.  But  he 
knew  from  the  young  man's  presence  at  the  door  that 
his  experience  had  been  real  enough,  and  the  knowl 
edge  kept  his  brain  out  of  the  threatening  chaos. 

Some  time  during  the  night  he  had  awakened  on 

234 


FIRST  PRINCIPLES 235 

his  cot  in  the  rear  room  of  the  courthouse  to  hear  a 
cold,  threatening  voice  warning  him  to  silence.  He  had 
recognized  the  voice,  as  he  had  recognized  it  once 
before,  under  similar  conditions.  He  had  been  gagged, 
his  hands  tied  behind  him.  Then  he  had  been  lifted, 
carried  outside,  placed  on  the  back  of  a  horse,  in  front 
of  his  captor,  and  borne  away  in  the  darkness.  They 
had  ridden  many  miles  before  the  horse  came  to  a  halt 
and  he  was  lifted  down.  Then  he  had  been  forced  to 
ascend  a  sharp  slope;  he  could  hear  the  horse  clattering 
up  behind  them.  But  he  had  not  been  able  to  see  any 
thing  in  the  darkness,  though  he  felt  he  was  walking 
along  the  edge  of  a  cliff.  The  walk  had  ended  abruptly, 
when  his  captor  had  forced  him  into  his  present  quar 
ters  with  a  gruff  admonition  to  sleep.  Sleep  had  come 
hard,  and  he  had  done  little  of  it,  napping  merely,  sit 
ting  on  the  stone  floor,  his  back  against  the  wall,  most 
of  the  time  watching  his  captor.  He  had  talked  some, 
asking  questions  which  his  captor  ignored.  Then  a 
period  of  oblivion  had  come,  and  he  had  awakened  to 
the  sunshine.  For  an  hour  he  had  sat  where  he  was, 
looking  out  at  his  captor  and  blinking  at  the  brilliant 
sunshine.  But  he  had  asked  no  questions  since  awaken 
ing,  for  he  had  become  convinced  of  the  meaning  of 
all  this.  But  he  was  intensely  curious,  now. 

" Where  have  you  brought  me?"  he  demanded  of 
his  jailor. 

;' You're  awake,  eh?"  Trevison  grinned  as  he 
wheeled  and  looked  in  at  his  prisoner.  "This,"  he 
waved  a  hand  toward  the  ledge  and  its  surroundings, 
"is  an  Indian  pueblo,  long  deserted.  It  makes  an 


236  "FIREBRAND"   TREASON 

admirable  prison,  Judge.  It  is  also  a  sort  of  a  fort. 
There  is  only  one  vulnerable  point  —  the  slope  we  came 
up  last  night.  I'll  take  you  on  a  tour  of  examination, 
if  you  like.  And  then  you  must  return  here,  to  stay 
until  you  disclose  the  whereabouts  of  the  original  land 
record." 

The  Judge  paled,  partly  from  anger,  partly  from  a 
fear  that  gripped  him. 

"This  is  an  outrage,  Trevison!    This  is  America!" 

"Is  it?"  The  young  man  smiled  imperturbably. 
"There  have  been  times  during  the  past  few  weeks 
when  I  doubted  it,  very  much.  It  is  America,  though, 
but  it  is  a  part  of  America  that  the  average  American 
sees  little  of  —  that  he  knows  little  of.  As  little, 
let  us  say,  as  he  knows  of  the  weird  application  of  its 
laws  —  as  applied  by  some  judges."  He  smiled  as 
Lindman  winced.  "  I  have  given  up  hoping  to  secure 
justice  in  the  regular  way,  and  so  we  are  in  the  midst 
of  a  reversion  to  first  principles  —  which  may  lead 
us  to  our  goal." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"That  I  must  have  the  original  record,  Judge,  I 
mean  to  have  it." 

"I  deny  —  " 

"Yes  —  of  course.  Deny,  if  you  like.  We  shan't 
argue.  Do  you  want  to  explore  the  place?  There  will 
be  plenty  of  time  for  talk." 

He  stepped  aside  as  the  Judge  came  out,  and  grinned 
broadly  as  he  caught  the  Judge's  shrinking  look  at  a 
rifle  he  took  up  as  he  turned.  It  had  been  propped 
against  the  wall  at  his  side.  He  swung  it  to  the  hollow 


FIRST  PRINCIPLES 237 

of  his  left  elbow.  "Your  knowledge  of  firearms  con 
vinces  you  that  you  can't  run  as  fast  as  a  rifle  bullet, 
doesn't  it,  Judge?" 

The  Judge's  face  indicated  that  he  understood. 

"Ever  make  the  acquaintance  of  an  Indian  pueblo, 
Judge?" 

"  No.  I  came  West  only  a  year  ago,  and  I  have  kept 
pretty  close  to  my  work." 

"Well,  you'll  feel  pretty  intimate  with  this  one  by 
the  time  you  leave  it  —  if  you're  obstinate,"  laughed 
Trevison.  He  stood  still  and  watched  the  Judge.  The 
latter  was  staring  hard  at  his  surroundings,  perhaps 
with  something  of  the  awed  reverence  that  overtakes 
the  tourist  when  for  the  first  time  he  views  an  ancient 
ruin. 

The  pueblo  seemed  to  be  nothing  more  than  a  jum 
ble  of  adobe  boxes  piled  in  an  indiscriminate  heap  on 
a  gigantic  stone  level  surmounting  the  crest  of  a  hill. 
A  sheer  rock  wall,  perhaps  a  hundred  feet  in  height, 
descended  to  the  surrounding  slopes ;  the  latter  sweep 
ing  down  to  join  the  plains.  A  dust,  light,  dry,  and 
feathery  lay  thickly  on  the  adobe  boxes  on  the  sur 
rounding  ledge  on  the  slopes,  like  a  gray  ash  sprinkled 
from  a  giant  sifter.  Cactus  and  yucca  dotted  the  slopes, 
thorny,  lancelike,  repellent;  lava,  dull,  hinting  of  vol 
canic  fire,  filled  crevices  and  depressions,  and  huge 
blocks  of  stone,  detached  in  the  progress  of  disintegra 
tion,  were  scattered  about. 

"It  has  taken  ages  for  this  to  happen!"  the  Judge 
heard  himself  murmuring. 

Trevison  laughed  lowly.    "  So  it  has,  Judge.    Makes 


23 8  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

you  think  of  your  school  days,  doesn't  it?  You  hardly 
remember  it,  though.  You  have  a  hazy  sort  of  recol 
lection  of  a  print  of  a  pueblo  in  a  geography,  or  in  a 
geological  textbook,  but  at  the  time  you  were  more  inter 
ested  in  Greek  roots,  the  Alps,  Louis  Quinze,  the  heroes 
of  mythology,  or  something  equally  foreign,  and  you 
forgot  that  your  own  country  might  hold  something 
of  interest  for  you.  But  the  history  of  these  pueblo 
towns  must  be  pretty  interesting,  if  one  could  get  at 
it.  All  that  I  have  heard  of  it  are  some  pretty  weird 
legends.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  I  suppose,  that  the 
people  who  inhabited  these  communal  houses  had  laws 
to  govern  them  —  and  judges  to  apply  the  laws.  And 
I  presume  that  then,  as  now,  the  judges  were  swayed 
by  powerful  influences  in  —  " 

The  Judge  glared  at  his  tormentor.  The  latter 
laughed. 

"  It  is  reasonable  to  presume,  too,"  he  went  on, 
"  that  in  some  cases  the  judges  rendered  some  pretty 
raw  decisions.  And  carrying  the  supposition  further, 
we  may  believe  that  then,  as  now,  the  poor  downtrod 
den  proletariat  got  rather  hot  under  the  collar.  There 
are  always  some  hot-tempered  fools  among  all  classes 
and  races  that  do,  you  know.  They  simply  can't  stand 
the  feel  of  the  iron  heel  of  the  oppressor.  Can  you 
picture  a  hot-tempered  fool  of  that  tribe  abducting  a 
judge  of  the  court  of  his  people  and  carrying  him  away 
to  some  uninhabited  place,  there  to  let  him  starve  until 
he  decided  to  do  the  right  thing?" 

"Starve!"  gasped  the  Judge. 

"The  chambers  and  tunnels  connecting  these  com- 


FIRST  PRINCIPLES 239 

munal  houses  —  they  look  like  mud  boxes,  don't  they, 
Judge?  And  there  isn't  a  soul  in  any  of  them  —  nor  a 
bite  to  eat!  As  I  was  about  to  remark,  the  chambers 
and  tunnels  and  the  passages  connecting  these  places 
are  pretty  bare  and  cheerless  —  if  we  except  scorpions, 
horned  toads,  centipedes,  tarantulas  —  and  other 
equally  undesirable  occupants.  Not  a  pleasant  place 
to  sojourn  in  until —  How  long  can  a  man  live  with 
out  eating,  Judge?  You  know,  of  course,  that  the 
Indians  selected  an  elevated  and  isolated  site,  such  as 
this,  because  of  its  strategical  advantages?  This  makes 
an  ideal  fort.  Nobody  can  get  into  it  except  by  nego 
tiating  the  slope  we  came  up  last  night.  And  a  rifle 
in  the  hands  of  a  man  with  a  yearning  to  use  it  would 
make  that  approach  pretty  unsafe,  wouldn't  it?" 

"My  God!"  moaned  the  Judge;  "you  talk  like  a 
man  bereft  of  his  senses!" 

"Or  like  a  man  who  is  determined  not  to  be  robbed 
of  his  rights,"  added  Trevison.  "Well,  come  along. 
We  won't  dwell  on  such  things  if  they  depress  you." 

He  took  the  Judge's  arm  and  escorted  him.  They 
circled  the  broad  stone  ledge.  It  ran  in  wide,  irregular 
sweeps  in  the  general  outline  of  a  huge  circle,  sur 
rounded  by  the  dust-covered  slopes  melting  into  the 
plains,  so  vast  that  the  eye  ached  in  an  effort  to  com 
prehend  them.  Miles  away  they  could  see  smoke 
befouling  the  blue  of  the  sky.  The  Judge  knew  the 
smoke  came  from  Manti,  and  he  wondered  if  Corri- 
gan  were  wondering  over  his  disappearance.  He  men 
tioned  that  to  Trevison,  and  the  latter  grinned  faintly 
at  him. 


24o  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

"  I  forgot  to  mention  that  to  you.  It  was  all 
arranged  last  night.  Clay  Levins  went  to  Dry  Bottom 
on  a  night  train.  He  took  with  him  a  letter,  which 
he  was  to  mail  at  Dry  Bottom,  explaining  your  absence 
to  Corrigan.  Needless  to  say,  your  signature  was 
forged.  But  I  did  so  good  a  job  that  Corrigan  will 
not  suspect.  Corrigan  will  get  the  letter  by  tonight. 
It  says  that  you  are  going  to  take  a  long  rest." 

The  Judge  gasped  and  looked  quickly  at  Trevison. 
The  young  man's  face  was  wreathed  in  a  significant 
grin. 

"  In  the  first  analysis,  this  looks  like  a  rather  strange 
proceeding,"  said  Trevison.  "  But  if  you  get  deeper 
into  it  you  see  its  logic.  You  know  where  the  original 
record  is.  I  want  it.  I  mean  to  have  it.  One  life  — 
a  dozen  lives  —  won't  stop  me.  Oh,  well,  we  won't 
talk  about  it  if  you're  going  to  shudder  that  way." 

He  led  the  Judge  up  a  flimsy,  rotted  ladder  to  a 
flat  roof,  forcing  him  to  look  into  a  chamber  where 
vermin  fled  at  their  appearance.  Then  through  numer 
ous  passages,  low,  narrow,  reeking  with  a  musty  odor 
that  nauseated  the  Judge;  on  narrow  ledges  where  they 
had  to  hug  the  walls  to  keep  from  falling,  and  then 
into  an  open  court  with  a  stone  floor,  stained  dark,  in 
the  center  a  huge  oblong  block  of  stone,  surmounting 
a  pyramid,  appalling  in  its  somber  suggestiveness. 

"The  sacrificial  altar,"  said  Trevison,  grimly. 
"  These  stains  here,  are  —  " 

He  stopped,  for  the  Judge  had  turned  his  back. 

Trevison  led  him  away.  He  had  to  help  him  down 
the  ladder  each  time  they  descended,  and  when  they 


FIRST  PRINCIPLES  241 

reached  the  chamber  from  which  they  had  started  the 
Judge  was  white  and  shaking. 

Trevison  pushed  him  inside  and  silently  took  a  posi 
tion  at  the  door.  The  Judge  sank  to  the  floor  of  the 
chamber,  groaning. 

The  hours  dragged  slowly.  Trevison  changed  his 
position  twice.  Once  he  went  away,  but  returned  in 
a  few  minutes  with  a  canteen,  from  which  he  drank, 
deeply.  The  Judge  had  been  without  food  or  water 
since  the  night  before,  and  thirst  tortured  him.  The 
gurgle  of  the  water  as  it  came  out  of  the  canteen,  mad 
dened  him. 

"  I'd  like  a  drink,  Trevison." 

"  Of  course.    Any  man  would." 

"May  I  have  one?" 

"  The  minute  you  tell  me  where  that  record  is." 

The  Judge  subsided.  A  moment  later  Trevison's 
voice  floated  into  the  chamber,  cold  and  resonant: 

"  I  don't  think  you're  in  this  thing  for  money,  Judge. 
Corrigan  has  some  sort  of  a  hold  on  you.  What  is  it  ?  " 

The  Judge  did  not  answer. 

The  sun  climbed  to  the  zenith.  It  grew  intensely  hot 
in  the  chamber.  Twice  during  the  afternoon  the  Judge 
asked  for  water,  and  each  time  he  received  the  answer 
he  had  received  before.  He  did  not  ask  for  food,  for 
he  felt  it  would  not  be  given  him.  At  sundown  his  cap 
tor  entered  the  chamber  and  gave  him  a  meager  draught 
from  the  canteen.  Then  he  withdrew  and  stood  on 
the  ledge  in  front  of  the  door,  looking  out  into  the 
darkening  plains,  and  watching  him,  a  conviction  of  the 
futility  of  resisting  him  seized  the  Judge.  He  stood 


242  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

framed  in  the  opening  of  the  chamber,  the  lines  of  his 
bold,  strong  face  prominent  in  the  dusk,  the  rifle  held 
loosely  in  the  crook  of  his  left  arm,  the  right  hand 
caressing  the  stock,  his  shoulders  squared,  his  big,  lithe, 
muscular  figure  suggesting  magnificent  physical  strength, 
as  the  light  in  his  eyes,  the  set  of  his  head  and  the  firm 
lines  of  his  mouth,  brought  a  conviction  of  rare  courage 
and  determination.  The  sight  of  him  thrilled  the 
Judge ;  he  made  a  picture  that  sent  the  Judge's  thoughts 
skittering  back  to  things  primitive  and  heroic.  In  an 
earlier  day  the  Judge  had  dreamed  of  being  like  him, 
and  the  knowledge  that  he  had  fallen  far  short  of 
realizing  his  ideal  made  him  shiver  with  self-aversion. 
He  stifled  a  moan  —  or  tried  to  and  did  not  succeed, 
for  it  reached  Trevison's  ears  and  he  turned  quickly. 

"Did  you  call,  Judge?" 

"Yes,  yes!"  whispered  the  Judge,  hoarsely.  "I 
want — to  tell  you  everything!  I  have  longed  to  tell 
you  all  along! " 

An  hour  later  they  were  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the 
ledge,  their  feet  dangling,  the  abyss  below  them,  the 
desert  stars  twinkling  coldly  above  them ;  around  them 
the  indescribable  solitude  of  a  desert  night  filled  with 
mystery,  its  vague,  haunting,  whispering  voice  burdened 
with  its  age-old  secrets.  Trevison  had  an  arm  around 
the  Judge's  shoulder.  Their  voices  mingled  —  the 
Judge's  low,  quavering;  Trevison's  full,  deep,  sympa 
thetic. 

After  a  while  a  rider  appeared  out  of  the  starlit 
haze  of  the  plains  below  them.  The  Judge  started. 
Trevison  laughed. 


FIRST  PRINCIPLES 243 

"It's  Clay  Levins,  Judge.  I've  been  watching  him 
for  half  an  hour.  He'll  stay  here  with  you  while  I 
go  after  the  record.  Under  the  bottom  drawer,  eh?" 

Levins  hallooed  to  them.  Trevison  answered,  and 
he  and  the  Judge  walked  forward  to  meet  Levins  at 
the  crest  of  the  slope. 

"  Slicker'n  a  whistle ! "  declared  Levins,  answering 
the  question  Trevison  put  to  him.  "  I  mailed  the  damn 
letter  an'  come  back  on  the  train  that  brought  it  to 
him !  "  He  grinned  felinely  at  the  Judge.  "  I  reckon 
you're  a  heap  dry  an'  hungry  by  this  time?  " 

"The  Judge  has  feasted,"  said  Trevison.  "I'm 
going  after  the  record.  You're  to  stay  here  with  the 
Judge  until  I  return.  Then  the  three  of  us  will  ride 
to  Las  Vegas,  where  we  will  take  a  train  to  Santa  Fe, 
to  turn  the  record  over  to  the  Circuit  Court." 

"  Sounds  good !  "  gloated  Levins.  "  But  it's  too  long 
around.  I'm  for  somethin'  more  direct.  Why  not  take 
the  Judge  with  you  to  Manti,  get  the  record,  takin'  a 
bunch  of  your  boys  with  you  —  an'  salivate  that  damned 
Corrigan  an'  his  deputies!" 

Trevison  laughed  softly.  "I  don't  want  any  vio 
lence  if  I  can  avoid  it.  My  land  won't  run  away  while 
we're  in  Santa  Fe.  And  the  Judge  doesn't  want  to  meet 
Corrigan  just  now.  I  don't  know  that  I  blame  him." 

"Where's  the  record?" 

Trevison  told  him,  and  Levins  grumbled.  "  Corri- 
gan'll  have  his  deputies  guardin'  the  courthouse,  most 
likely.  If  you  run  ag'in  'em,  they'll  bore  you,  sure  as 
hell!" 

"I'll  take  care  of  myself — I  promise  you  that!" 


244  "FIREBRAND"  TREVISON 

he  laughed,  and  the  Judge  shuddered  at  the  sound.  He 
vanished  into  the  darkness  of  the  ledge,  returning  pres 
ently  with  Nigger,  led  him  down  the  slope,  called  a 
low  "So-long"  to  the  two  watchers  on  the  ledge,  and 
rode  away  into  the  haze  of  the  plains. 

Trevison  rode  fast,  filled  with  a  grim  elation.  He 
pitied  the  Judge.  An  error  —  a  momentary  weaken 
ing  of  moral  courage  —  had  plunged  the  jurist  into 
the  clutches  of  Corrigan ;  he  could  hardly  be  held  respon 
sible  for  what  had  transpired  —  he  was  a  puppet  in  the 
hands  of  an  unscrupulous  schemer,  with  a  threat  of 
exposure  hanging  over  him.  No  wonder  he  feared 
Corrigan !  Trevison's  thoughts  grew  bitter  as  they 
dwelt  upon  the  big  man ;  the  old  longing  to  come  into 
violent  physical  contact  with  the  other  seized  him,  raged 
within  him,  brought  a  harsh  laugh  to  his  lips  as  he  rode. 
But  a  greater  passion  than  he  felt  for  the  Judge  or 
Corrigan  tugged  at  him  as  he  urged  the  big  black  over 
the  plains  toward  the  twinkling  lights  of  Manti  —  a 
fierce  exultation  which  centered  around  Rosalind  Ben- 
ham.  She  had  duped  him,  betrayed  him  to  his  enemy, 
had  played  with  him  —  but  she  had  lost ! 

Yet  the  thought  of  his  coming  victory  over  her  was 
poignantly  unsatisfying.  He  tried  to  picture  her  —  did 
picture  her  —  receiving  the  news  of  Corrigan's  defeat, 
and  somehow  it  left  him  with  a  feeling  of  regret.  The 
vengeful  delight  that  he  should  have  felt  was  absent 
- —  he  felt  sorry  for  her.  He  charged  himself  with  being 
a  fool  for  yielding  to  so  strange  a  sentiment,  but  it 
lingered  persistently.  It  fed  his  rage  against  Corri 
gan,  however,  doubled  it,  for  upon  him  lay  the  blame. 


FIRST  PRINCIPLES 245 

It  was  late  when  he  reached  the  outskirts  of  Manti. 
He  halted  Nigger  in  the  shadow  of  a  shed  a  hundred 
yards  or  so  down  the  track  from  the  courthouse,  dis 
mounted  and  made  his  way  cautiously  down  the  rail 
road  tracks.  He  was  beyond  the  radius  of  the  lights 
from  various  windows  that  he  passed,  but  he  moved 
stealthily,  not  knowing  whether  Corrigan  had  stationed 
guards  about  the  courthouse,  as  Levins  had  warned. 
An  instant  after  reaching  a  point  opposite  the  court 
house  he  congratulated  himself  on  his  discretion,  for  he 
caught  a  glimmer  of  light  at  the  edge  of  a  window  shade 
in  the  courthouse,  saw  several  indistinct  figures  con 
gregated  at  the  side  door,  outside.  He  slipped  behind 
a  tool  shed  at  the  side  of  the  track,  and  crouching  there, 
watched  and  listened.  A  mumbling  of  voices  reached 
him,  but  he  could  distinguish  no  word.  But  it  was 
evident  that  the  men  outside  were  awaiting  the  reap 
pearance  of  one  of  their  number  who  had  gone  into 
the  building. 

Trevison  watched,  impatiently.  Then  presently  the 
side  door  opened,  letting  out  a  flood  of  light,  which 
bathed  the  figures  of  the  waiting  men.  Trevison 
scowled,  for  he  recognized  them  as  Corrigan's  depu 
ties.  But  he  was  not  surprised,  for  he  had  half  expected 
them  to  be  hanging  around  the  building.  Two  figures 
stepped  down  from  the  door  as  he  watched,  and  he 
knew  them  for  Corrigan  and  Gieger.  Corrigan's  voice 
reached  him. 

"  The  lock  on  this  door  is  broken.  I  had  to  kick  it 
in  this  morning.  One  of  you  stay  inside,  here.  The 
rest  of  you  scatter  and  keep  your  eyes  peeled.  There's 


246  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

trickery  afoot.  Judge  Lindman  didn't  go  to  Dry  Bot 
tom —  the  agent  says  he's  sure  of  that  because  he  saw 
every  man  that's  got  aboard  a  train  here  within  the 
last  twenty-four  hours  —  and  Judge  Lindman  wasn't 
among  them!  Levins  was,  though;  he  left  on  the  one- 
thirty  this  morning  and  got  back  on  the  six-o'clock, 
tonight."  He  vanished  into  the  darkness  beyond  the 
door,  but  called  back:  "I'll  be  within  call.  Don't 
be  afraid  to  shoot  if  you  see  anything  suspicious ! " 

Trevison  saw  a  man  enter  the  building,  and  the 
light  was  blotted  out  by  the  closing  of  the  door.  When 
his  eyes  were  again  accustomed  to  the  darkness  he 
observed  that  the  men  were  standing  close  together  — 
they  seemed  to  be  holding  a  conference.  Then  the 
group  split  up,  three  going  toward  the  front  of  the 
building;  two  remaining  near  the  side  door,  and  two 
others  walking  around  to  the  rear. 

For  an  instant  Trevison  regretted  that  he  had  not 
taken  Levins'  advice  about  forming  a  posse  of  his 
own  men  to  take  the  courthouse  by  storm,  and  he 
debated  the  thought  of  postponing  action.  But  there 
was  no  telling  what  might  happen  during  an  interval 
of  delay.  In  his  rage  over  the  discovery  of  the  trick 
that  had  been  played  on  him  Corrigan  might  tear  the 
interior  of  the  building  to  pieces.  He  would  be  sure 
to  if  he  suspected  the  presence  of  the  original  record. 
Trevison  did  not  go  for  the  help  that  would  have  been 
very  welcome.  Instead,  he  spent  some  time  twirling 
the  cylinder  of  his  pistol. 

He  grew  tired  of  crouching  after  a  time  and  lay 
flat  on  his  stomach  in  the  shadow  of  the  tool  shed, 


FIRST  PRINCIPLES 247 

watching  the  men  as  they  tramped  back  and  forth 
around  the  building.  He  knew  that  sooner  or  later 
there  would  be  a  minute  or  two  of  relaxation,  and  of 
this  he  had  determined  to  take  advantage.  But  it  was 
not  until  sound  in  the  town  had  perceptibly  decreased 
in  volume  that  there  was  any  sign  of  the  men  relax 
ing  their  vigil.  And  then  he  noted  them  congregating 
at  the  front  of  the  building. 

"Hell,"  he  heard  one  of  them  say;  "what's  the 
use  of  hittin'  that  trail  all  night !  Bill's  inside,  an1  we 
can  see  the  door  from  here.  I'm  due  for  a  smoke  an' 
a  palaver!"  Matches  flared  up;  the  sounds  of  their 
voices  reached  Trevison. 

Trevison  disappointedly  relaxed.  Then,  filled  with 
a  sudden  decision,  he  slipped  around  the  back  of  the 
tool  shed  and  stole  toward  the  rear  of  the  courthouse. 
It  projected  beyond  the  rear  of  the  bank  building, 
adjoining  it,  forming  an  L,  into  the  shadow  of  which 
Trevison  slipped.  He  stood  there  for  an  instant,  breath 
ing  rapidly,  undecided.  The  darkness  in  the  shadow 
was  intense,  and  he  was  forced  to  feel  his  way  along 
the  wall  for  fear  of  stumbling.  He  was  leaning  heav 
ily  on  his  hands,  trusting  to  them  rather  than  to  his 
footing,  when  the  wall  seemed  to  give  way  under  them 
and  he  fell  forward,  striking  on  his  hands  and  knees. 
Fortunately,  he  had  made  no  sound  in  falling,  and  he 
remained  in  the  kneeling  position  until  he  got  an  idea 
of  what  had  happened.  He  had  fallen  across  the 
threshold  of  a  doorway.  The  door  had  been  unfastened 
and  the  pressure  of  his  hands  had  forced  it  inward. 
It  was  the  rear  door  of  the  bank  building.  He  looked 


248  "FIREBRAND"   TREASON 

inward,  wondering  at  Braman's  carelessness  —  and 
stared  fixedly  straight  into  a  beam  of  light  that  shone 
through  a  wedge-shaped  crevice  between  two  boards 
in  the  partition  that  separated  the  buildings. 

He  got  up  silently,  stepped  stealthily  into  the  room, 
closing  the  door  behind  him.  He  tried  to  fasten  it 
and  discovered  that  the  lock  was  broken.  For  some 
time  he  stood,  wondering,  and  then,  giving  it  up,  he 
made  his  way  cautiously  around  the  room,  searching 
for  Braman's  cot.  He  found  that,  too,  empty,  and  he 
decided  that  some  one  had  broken  into  the  building 
during  Braman's  absence.  Moving  away  from  the  cot, 
he  stumbled  against  something  soft  and  yielding,  and 
his  pistol  flashed  into  his  hand  in  sinister  preparation, 
for  he  knew  from  the  feel  of  the  soft  object  that  it 
was  a  body,  and  he  suspected  that  it  was  Braman,  stalk 
ing  him.  He  thought  that  until  he  remembered  the 
broken  lock  on  the  door,  and  then  the  significance  of 
it  burst  upon  him.  Whoever  had  broken  the  lock  had 
fixed  Braman.  He  knelt  swiftly  and  ran  his  hands 
over  the  prone  form,  drawing  back  at  last  with  the  low 
ejaculation:  "He's  a  goner!"  He  had  no  time  or 
inclination  to  speculate  over  the  manner  of  Braman's 
death,  and  made  catlike  progress  toward  the  crevice  in 
the  partition.  Reaching  it,  he  dropped  on  his  hands 
and  knees  and  peered  through.  A  wooden  box  on  the 
other  side  of  the  partition  intervened,  but  above  it  he 
could  see  the  form  of  the  deputy.  The  man  was 
stretched  out  in  a  chair,  sideways  to  the  crevice  in  the 
wall,  sleeping.  A  grin  of  huge  satisfaction  spread  over 
Trevison's  face. 


FIRST  PRINCIPLES 249 

His  movements  were  very  deliberate  and  cautious. 
But  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  had  pulled  the  board 
out  until  an  opening  was  made  in  the  partition,  and 
then  propping  the  board  back  with  a  chair  he  reached 
through  and  slowly  shoved  the  box  on  the  other  side 
back  far  enough  to  admit  his  body.  Crawling  through, 
he  rose  on  the  other  side,  crossed  the  floor  carefully, 
kneeled  at  the  drawer  where  Judge  Lindman  had  con 
cealed  the  record,  pulled  it  out  and  stuck  it  in  the  waist 
band  of  his  trousers,  in  front,  his  eyes  glittering  with 
exultation.  Then  he  began  to  back  toward  the  open 
ing  in  the  partition.  At  the  instant  he  was  preparing 
to  stoop  to  crawl  back  into  the  bank  building,  the  deputy 
in  the  chair  yawned,  stretched  and  opened  his  eyes, 
staring  stupidly  at  him.  There  was  no  mistaking  the 
dancing  glitter  in  Trevison's  eyes,  no  possible  misinter 
pretation  of  his  tense,  throaty  whisper:  "One  chirp 
and  you're  a  dead  one!"  And  the  deputy  stiffened  in 
the  chair,  dumb  with  astonishment  and  terror. 

The  deputy  had  not  seen  the  opening  in  the  parti 
tion,  for  it  was  partly  hidden  from  his  view  by  the  box 
which  Trevison  had  encountered  in  entering,  and  before 
the  man  had  an  opportunity  to  look  toward  the  place, 
Trevison  commanded  him  again,  in  a  sharp,  cold  whis 
per: 

"Get  up  and  turn  your  back  to  me  —  quick!  Any 
noise  and  I'll  plug  you !  Move!" 

The  deputy  obeyed.  Then  he  received  an  order  to 
walk  to  the  door  without  looking  back.  He  reached 
the  door  —  halted. 

"  Now  open  it  and  get  out !  " 


25o  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

The  man  did  as  bidden;  diving  headlong  out  into 
the  darkness,  swinging  the  door  shut  behind  him.  His 
yell  to  his  companions  mingled  with  the  roar  of  Trevi- 
son's  pistol  as  he  shattered  the  kerosene  lamp.  The 
bullet  hit  the  neck  of  the  glass  bowl,  a  trifle  below  the 
burner,  the  latter  describing  a  parabola  in  the  air  and 
falling  into  the  ruin  of  the  bowl.  The  chimney  crashed, 
the  flame  from  the  wick  touched  the  oil  and  flared  up 
brilliantly. 

Trevison  was  half  way  through  the  wall  by  the  time 
the  oil  ignited,  and  he  grinned  coldly  at  the  sight.  Haste 
was  important  now.  He  slipped  through  the  open 
ing,  pulled  the  chair  from  between  the  board  and  wall, 
letting  the  board  snap  back,  and  placing  the  chair 
against  it.  He  felt  certain  that  the  deputies  would 
think  that  in  some  manner  he  had  run  their  barricade 
and  entered  the  building  through  the  door. 

He  heard  voices  outside,  a  fusillade  of  shots,  the 
tinkle  of  breaking  glass;  against  the  pine  boards  at  his 
side  came  the  wicked  thud  of  bullets,  the  splintering  of 
wood  as  they  tore  through  the  partition  and  embedded 
themselves  in  the  outside  wall.  He  ducked  low  and  ran 
to  the  rear  door,  swinging  it  open.  Braman's  body 
bothered  him;  he  could  not  leave  it  there,  knowing  the 
building  would  soon  be  in  flames.  He  dragged  the 
body  outside,  to  a  point  several  feet  distant  from  the 
building,  dropping  it  at  last  and  standing  erect  for  the 
first  time  to  fill  his  lungs  and  look  about  him.  Looking 
back  as  he  ran  down  the  tracks  toward  the  shed  where 
he  had  left  Nigger,  he  saw  shadowy  forms  of  men 
running  around  the  courthouse,  which  was  now  dully 


FIRST  PRINCIPLES 251 

illuminated,  the  light  from  within  dancing  fitfully 
through  the  window  shades.  Flaming  streaks  rent  the 
night  from  various  points  —  thinking  him  still  in  the 
building  the  deputies  were  shooting  through  the  win 
dows.  Manti,  rudely  awakened,  was  pouring  its  popu 
lation  through  its  doors  in  streams.  Shouts,  hoarse, 
inquisitive,  drifted  to  Trevison's  ears.  Lights  blazed 
up,  flickering  from  windows  like  giant  fireflies.  Doors 
slammed,  dogs  were  barking,  men  were  running.  Trev- 
ison  laughed  vibrantly  as  he  ran.  But  his  lips  closed 
tightly  when  he  saw  two  or  three  shadowy  figures  dart 
ing  toward  him,  coming  from  various  directions  —  one 
from  across  the  street;  another  coming  straight  down 
the  railroad  track,  still  another  advancing  from  his 
right.  He  bowed  his  head  and  essayed  to  pass  the  first 
figure.  It  reached  out  a  hand  and  grasped  his  shoul 
der,  arresting  his  flight. 

"What's  up?" 

"Let  go,  you  damned  fool!" 

The  man  still  clung  to  him.  Trevison  wrenched 
himself  free  and  struck,  viciously.  The  man  dropped 
with  a  startled  cry.  Another  figure  was  upon  Trevi 
son.  He  wanted  no  more  trouble  at  that  minute. 

"  Hell  to  pay !  "  he  panted  as  the  second  man  loomed 
close  to  him  in  the  darkness;  "Trevison's  in  the  court 
house!" 

He  heard  the  other  gasp;  saw  him  lunge  forward. 
He  struck  again,  bitterly,  and  the  man  went  to  his 
knees.  He  was  up  again  instantly,  as  Trevison  fled  into 
the  darkness,  crying  resonantly: 

"This  way,  boys  —  here  he  is!" 


252  "FIREBRAND"   T  REV  I  SON 

"  Corrigan !  "  breathed  Trevison.  He  ducked  as  a 
flame-spurt  split  the  night;  reaching  a  corner  of  the 
shed  where  he  had  left  his  horse  as  a  succession  of 
reports  rattled  behind  him.  Corrigan  was  firing  at  him. 
He  dared  not  use  his  own  pistol,  lest  its  flash  reveal  his 
whereabouts,  and  he  knew  he  would  have  no  chance 
against  the  odds  that  were  against  him.  Nor  was  he 
intent  on  murder.  He  flung  himself  into  the  saddle, 
and  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  come  into  Trevison' s 
possession  Nigger  knew  the  bite  of  spurs  earnestly 
applied.  He  snorted,  leaped,  and  plunged  forward, 
the  clatter  of  his  hoofs  bringing  lancelike  streaks  of 
fire  out  of  the  surrounding  blackness.  Behind  him 
Trevison  heard  Corrigan  raging  impotently,  profanely. 
There  came  another  scattering  volley.  Trevison  reeled, 
caught  himself,  and  then  hung  hard  to  the  saddle-horn, 
as  Nigger  fled  into  the  night,  running  as  a  coyote  runs 
from  the  daylight. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ANOTHER  WOMAN  LIES 

SHORTLY  before  midnight  Aunt  Agatha  Benham 
laid  her  book  down,  took  off  her  glasses,  wiped 
her  eyes  and  yawned.  She  sat  for  a  time  stretched  out 
in  her  chair,  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  meditatively 
looking  at  the  flicker  of  the  kerosene  lamp,  thinking 
of  the  conveniences  she  had  given  up  in  order  to  chap 
eron  a  wilful  girl  who  did  not  appreciate  her  services. 
It  was  the  selfishness  of  youth,  she  decided  —  nothing 
less.  But  still  Rosalind  might  understand  what  a  sac 
rifice  her  aunt  was  making  for  her.  Thrilling  with  self- 
pity,  she  got  up,  blew  out  the  light  and  ascended  the 
stairs  to  her  room.  She  plumped  herself  in  a  chair 
at  one  of  the  front  windows  before  beginning  to 
undress,  that  she  might  again  feel  the  delicious  thrill, 
for  that  was  the  only  consolation  she  got  from  a  con 
templation  of  her  sacrifice.  Rosalind  never  offered  her 
a  word  of  gratitude! 

The  thrill  she  anticipated  was  not  the  one  she  experi 
enced —  it  was  a  thrill  of  apprehension  that  seized  her 
—  for  a  glowing  midnight  sky  met  her  gaze  as  she 
stared  in  the  direction  of  Manti,  vast,  extensive.  In 
its  center,  directly  over  the  town,  was  a  fierce  white 
glare  with  off-shoots  of  licking,  leaping  tongues  of 
flame  that  reached  skyward  hungrily. 

253 


254  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

Agatha  watched  for  one  startled  instant,  and  then 
she  was  in  Rosalind's  room,  leaning  over  the  bed,  shak 
ing  her.  The  girl  got  up,  dressed  in  her  night  clothes, 
and  together  they  stood  at  one  of  the  windows  in  the 
girl's  room,  watching. 

The  fierce  white  center  of  the  fire  seemed  to  expand. 

"It's  a  fire  — in  Manti ! "  said  the  girl.  "See! 
Another  building  has  caught !  Oh,  I  do  hope  they 
can  put  it  out! " 

They  stood  long  at  the  window.  Once,  when  the 
glow  grew  more  brilliant,  the  girl  exclaimed  sharply, 
but  after  a  time  the  light  began  to  fade,  and  she  drew 
a  breath  of  relief. 

"They  have  it  under  control,"  she  said. 

"Well,  come  to  bed,"  advised  Agatha. 

"  Wait !  "  said  the  girl.  She  pressed  her  face  against 
the  window  and  peered  intently  into  the  darkness.  Then 
she  threw  up  the  sash,  stuck  her  head  out  and  listened. 
She  drew  back,  her  face  slowly  whitening. 

"  Some  one  is  coming,  Aunty  —  and  riding  very 
fast ! " 

A  premonition  of  tragedy,  associated  with  the  fire, 
had  seized  the  girl  at  her  first  glimpse  of  the  light, 
though  she  had  said  nothing.  The  appearance  of  a 
rider,  approaching  the  house  at  breakneck  speed  had 
added  strength  to  her  fears,  and  now,  driven  by  the 
urge  of  apprehension  that  had  seized  her  she  flitted  out 
of  the  room  before  Agatha  could  restrain  her,  and  was 
down  in  the  sitting-room  in  an  instant,  applying  a  match 
to  the  lamp.  As  the  light  flared  up  she  heard  the  thun 
der  of  hoofs  just  outside  the  door,  and  she  ran  to  it, 


ANOTHER  WOMAN  LIES  255 

throwing  it  open.  She  shrank  back,  drawing  her  breath 
gaspingly,  for  the  rider  had  dismounted  and  stepped 
toward  her,  into  the  dim  light  of  the  open  doorway. 

"You!"  she  said. 

A  low  laugh  was  her  answer,  and  Trevison  stepped 
over  the  threshold  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 
From  the  foot  of  the  stairs  Agatha  saw  him,  and  she 
stood,  nerveless  and  shaking  with  dread  over  the  pic 
ture  he  made. 

He  had  been  more  than  forty-eight  hours  without 
sleep,  the  storm-center  of  action  had  left  its  impres 
sion  on  him,  and  his  face  was  gaunt  and  haggard,  with 
great,  dark  hollows  under  his  eyes.  The  three  or  four 
days'  growth  of  beard  accentuated  the  bold  lines  of  his 
chin  and  jaw;  his  eyes  were  dancing  with  the  fires  of 
passion;  he  held  a  Winchester  rifle  under  his  right 
arm,  the  left,  hanging  limply  at  his  side,  was  stained 
darkly.  He  swayed  as  he  stood  looking  at  the  girl, 
and  smiled  with  faint  derision  at  the  naked  fear  and 
wonder  that  had  leaped  into  her  eyes.  But  the  derision 
was  tinged  with  bitterness,  for  this  girl  with  both  hands 
pressed  over  her  breast,  heaving  with  the  mingled  emo 
tions  of  modesty  and  dismay,  was  one  of  the  chief  fac 
tors  in  the  scheme  to  rob  him.  The  knowledge  hurt 
him  worse  than  the  bullet  which  had  passed  through 
his  arm.  She  had  been  uppermost  in  his  thoughts  dur 
ing  his  reckless  ride  from  Manti,  and  he  would  have 
cheerfully  given  his  land,  his  ten  years  of  labor,  for  the 
assurance  that  she  was  innocent.  But  he  knew  guilt 
when  he  saw  it,  and  proof  of  it  had  been  in  her  avoid 
ance  of  him,  in  her  ride  to  save  Corrigan's  mining 


256  "FIREBRAND"  T  REV  I  SON 

machinery,  in  her  subsequent  telling  of  his  presence 
at  the  butte  on  the  night  of  the  dynamiting,  in  her 
bitter  declaration  that  he  ought  to  be  punished  for  it. 
The  case  against  her  was  strong.  And  yet  on  his  ride 
from  Manti  he  had  been  irresistibly  drawn  toward  the 
Bar  B  ranchhouse.  He  had  told  himself  as  he  rode 
that  the  impulse  to  visit  her  this  night  was  strong 
within  him  because  on  his  way  to  the  pueblo  he  was 
forced  to  pass  the  house,  but  he  knew  better — he  had 
lied  to  himself.  He  wanted  to  talk  with  her  again;  he 
wanted  to  show  her  the  land  record,  which  proved  her 
fiance's  guilt;  he  wanted  to  watch  her  as  she  looked 
at  the  record,  to  learn  from  her  face  —  what  he  might 
find  there. 

He  stood  the  rifle  against  the  wall  near  the  door, 
while  the  girl  and  her  aunt  watched  him,  breathlessly. 
His  voice  was  vibrant  and  hoarse,  but  well  under  con 
trol,  and  he  smiled  with  straight  lips  as  he  set  the  rifle 
down  and  drew  the  record  from  his  waistband. 

"  I've  something  to  show  you,  Miss  Benham.  I 
couldn't  pass  the  house  without  letting  you  know  what 
has  happened."  He  opened  the  book  and  stepped  to 
her  side,  swinging  his  left  hand  up,  the  index  finger 
indicating  a  page  on  which  his  name  appeared. 

"Look!"  he  said,  sharply,  and  watched  her  face 
closely.  He  saw  her  cheeks  blanch,  and  set  his  lips 
grimly. 

"Why,"  she  said,  after  she  had  hurriedly  scanned 
the  page;  "  it  seems  to  prove  your  title!  But  this  is  a 
court  record,  isn't  it?"  She  examined  the  gilt  letter 
ing  on  the  back  of  the  volume,  and  looked  up  at  him 


ANOTHER  WOMAN  LIES  257 

with  wide,  luminous  eyes.  "Where  did  you  get  that 
book?" 

"From  the  courthouse." 

"Why,  I  thought  people  weren't  permitted  to  take 
court  records  —  " 

"  I've  taken  this  one,"  he  laughed. 

She  looked  at  the  blood  on  his  hand,  shudderingly. 
"Why,"  she  said;  "there's  been  violence!  The  fire, 
the  blood  on  your  hand,  the  record,  your  ride  here  — 
What  does  it  mean?" 

"It  means  that  I've  been  denied  my  rights,  and  I've 
taken  them.  Is  there  any  crime  in  that?  Look  here !  " 
He  took  another  step  and  stood  looking  down  at  her. 
"  I'm  not  saying  anything  about  Corrigan.  You  know 
what  we  think  of  each  other,  and  we'll  fight  it  out,  man 
to  man.  But  the  fact  that  a  woman  is  engaged  to  one 
man  doesn't  bar  another  man  from  the  game.  And 
I'm  in  this  game  to  the  finish.  And  even  if  I  don't  get 
you  I  don't  want  you  to  be  mixed  up  in  these  schemes 
and  plots  —  you're  too  good  a  girl  for  that!" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  She  stiffened,  looking  scorn 
fully  at  him,  her  chin  held  high,  outraged  innocence  in 
her  manner.  His  cold  grin  of  frank  disbelief  roused 
her  to  furious  indignation.  What  right  had  he  to  ques 
tion  her  integrity  to  make  such  speeches  to  her  after  his 
disgraceful  affair  with  Hester  Harvey? 

"  I  do  not  care  to  discuss  the  matter  with  you !  "  she 
said,  her  lips  stiff. 

"Ha,  ha!"  The  bitter  derision  in  his  laugh  made 
her  blood  riot  with  hatred.  He  walked  toward  the 
door  and  took  up  the  rifle,  dimly  remembering  that 


258  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

she  had  used  the  same  words  to  him  once  before,  when 
he  had  met  her  as  she  had  been  riding  toward  Manti. 
Of  course  she  wouldn't  discuss  such  a  thing  —  he  had 
been  a  blind  fool  to  think  she  would.  But  it  proved  her 
guilt.  Swinging  the  rifle  under  his  arm,  he  opened  the 
door,  turned  when  on  the  threshold  and  bowed  to  her. 

"I'm  sorry  I  troubled  you,  Miss  Benham,"  he  said. 
He  essayed  to  turn,  staggered,  looked  vacantly  around 
the  room,  his  lips  in  a  queerly  cold  half-smile,  and  then 
without  uttering  a  sound  pitched  forward,  one  shoulder 
against  the  door  jamb,  and  slid  slowly  to  his  knees, 
where  he  rested,  his  head  sinking  limply  to  his  chest. 
He  heard  the  girl  cry  out  sharply  and  he  raised  his 
head  with  an  effort  and  smiled  reassuringly  at  her,  and 
when  he  felt  her  hands  on  his  arm,  trying  to  lift  him, 
he  laughed  aloud  in  self-derision  and  got  to  his  feet, 
hanging  to  the  door  jamb. 

"I'm  sorry,  Miss  Benham,"  he  mumbled.  "I  lost 
some  blood,  I  suppose.  Rotten  luck,  isn't  it.  I 
shouldn't  have  stopped."  He  turned  to  go,  lurched  for 
ward  and  would  have  fallen  out  of  the  door  had  not  the 
girl  seized  and  steadied  him. 

He  did  not  resist  when  she  dragged  him  into  the 
room  and  closed  the  door,  but  he  waved  her  away  when 
she  tried  to  take  his  arm  and  lead  him  toward  the 
kitchen  where,  she  insisted,  she  would  prepare  a  stimu 
lant  and  food  for  him.  He  tottered  after  her,  tall  and 
gaunt,  his  big,  lithe  figure  strangely  slack,  his  head 
rocking,  the  room  whirling  around  him.  He  had  held 
to  the  record  and  the  rifle;  the  latter  by  the  muzzle, 
dragging  it  after  him,  the  record  under  his  arm. 


ANOTHER  WOMAN  LIES  259 

But  his  marvelous  constitution,  a  result  of  his  clean 
living  and  outdoor  life,  responded  quickly  to  the  stim 
ulation  of  food  and  hot  drinks,  and  in  half  an  hour 
he  got  up,  still  a  little  weak,  but  with  some  color 
in  his  cheeks,  and  shame-facedly  thanked  the  girl.  He 
realized  now,  that  he  should  not  have  come  here;  the 
past  few  hours  loomed  in  his  thoughts  like  a  wild  night 
mare  in  which  he  had  lost  his  sense  of  proportion, 
yielding  to  the  elemental  passions  that  had  been  aroused 
in  his  long,  sleepless  struggle,  making  him  act  upon 
impulses  that  he  would  have  frowned  contemptuously 
away  in  a  normal  frame  of  mind. 

"  I've  been  nearly  crazy,  I  think,"  he  said  to  the 
girl  with  a  wan  smile  of  self-accusation.  "  I  want  you 
to  forget  what  I  said." 

"What  happened  at  Manti?"  she  demanded,  ignor 
ing  his  words. 

He  laughed  at  the  recollection,  tucking  his  rifle  under 
his  arm,  preparatory  to  leaving.  "  I  went  after  the 
record.  I  got  it.  There  was  a  fight.  But  I  got  away." 

"But  the  fire!" 

"  I  was  forced  to  smash  a  lamp  in  the  courthouse. 
The  wick  fell  into  the  oil,  and  I  couldn't  delay  to  —  " 

"Was  anybody  hurt  —  besides  you?" 

"  Braman's  dead."  The  girl  gasped  and  shrank  from 
him,  and  he  saw  that  she  believed  he  had  killed  the 
banker,  and  he  was  about  to  deny  the  crime  when 
Agatha's  voice  shrilled  through  the  doorway: 

" There  are  some  men  coming,  Rosalind!"  And 
then,  vindictively:  "I  presume  they  are  desperadoes 
—  too!" 


26o  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

u  Deputies!"  said  Trevison.  The  girl  clasped  her 
hands  over  her  breast  in  dismay,  which  changed  to  ter 
ror  when  she  saw  Trevison  stiffen  and  leap  toward  the 
door.  She  was  afraid  for  him,  horrified  over  this  sec 
ond  lawless  deed,  dumb  with  doubt  and  indecision  — 
and  she  didn't  want  them  to  catch  him ! 

He  opened  the  door,  paused  on  the  threshold  and 
smiled  at  her  with  straight,  hard  lips. 

"Braman  was  —  " 

"Go!"  she  cried  in  a  frenzy  of  anxiety;  "go!" 

He  laughed  mockingly,  and  looked  at  her  intently. 
"  I  suppose  I  will  never  understand  women.  You  are 
my  enemy,  and  yet  you  give  me  food  and  drink  and 
are  eager  to  have  me  escape  your  accomplice.  Don't 
you  know  that  this  record  will  ruin  him?" 

"  Go,  go !  "  she  panted. 

"Well,  you're  a  puzzle!"  he  said.  She  saw  him 
leap  into  the  saddle,  and  she  ran  to  the  lamp,  blew  out 
the  flame,  and  returned  to  the  open  door,  in  which 
she  stood  for  a  long  time,  listening  to  rapid  hoof  beats 
that  gradually  receded.  Before  they  died  out  entirely 
there  came  the  sound  of  many  others,  growing  in  vol 
ume  and  drawing  nearer,  and  she  beat  her  hands 
together,  murmuring: 

"Run,  Nigger  —  run,  run,  run!" 

She  closed  the  door  as  the  hoof  beats  sounded  in  the 
yard,  locking  it  and  retreating  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
where  Agatha  stood. 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  asked  the  elder  woman. 
She  was  trembling. 


ANOTHER  WOMAN  LIES  261 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  whispered  the  girl,  gulping 
hard  to  keep  her  voice  from  breaking.  "  It's  some 
thing  about  Trevison's  land.  And  I'm  afraid,  Aunty, 
that  there  is  something  terribly  wrong.  Mr.  Corri- 
gan  says  it  belongs  to  him,  and  the  court  in  Manti 
has  decided  in  his  favor.  But  according  to  the  record 
in  Trevison's  possession,  he  has  a  clear  title  to  it." 

" There,  there,"  consoled  Agatha;  "your  father 
wouldn't  permit  —  " 

uNo,  no!"  said  the  girl,  vehemently;  "he  wouldn't. 
But  I  can't  understand  why  Trevison  fights  so  hard  if 
—  if  he  is  in  the  wrong !  " 

"He  is  a  desperado,  my  dear;  a  wild,  reckless  spirit 
who  has  no  regard  for  law  and  order.  Of  course,  if 
these  men  are  after  him,  you  will  tell  them  he  was 
here!" 

"No!"  said  the  girl,  sharply;  "I  shan't!" 

"Perhaps  you  shouldn't,"  acquiesced  Agatha.  She 
patted  the  girl's  shoulder.  "  Maybe  it  would  be  for  the 
best,  dear  —  he  may  be  in  the  right.  And  I  think  I 
understand  why  you  went  riding  with  him  so  much, 
dear.  He  may  be  wild  and  reckless,  but  he's  a  man  — 
every  inch  of  him !  " 

The  girl  squeezed  her  relative's  hand  and  went  to 
open  the  door,  upon  which  had  come  a  loud  knock. 
Corrigan  stood  framed  in  the  opening.  She  could 
see  his  face  only  dimly. 

"There's  no  occasion  for  alarm,  Miss  Benham,"  he 
said,  and  she  felt  that  he  could  see  her  better  than 
she  could  see  him,  and  thus  must  have  discerned  some 
thing  of  her  emotion.  "  I  must  apologize  for  this 


262  "FIREBRAND"  TREFI&ON 

noisy  demonstration.  I  believe  I'm  a  little  excited, 
though.  Has  Trevison  passed  here  within  the  last 
hour  or  so?" 

"No,"  she  said,  firmly. 

He  laughed  shortly.  "Well,  we'll  get  him.  I've 
split  my  men  up  —  some  have  gone  to  his  ranch,  the 
others  have  headed  for  Levins'  place." 

"What  has  happened?" 

"Enough.  Judge  Lindman  disappeared  —  the  sup 
position  is  that  he  was  abducted.  I  placed  some  men 
around  the  courthouse,  to  safeguard  the  records,  and 
Trevison  broke  in  and  set  fire  to  the  place.  He  also 
robbed  the  safe  in  the  bank,  and  killed  Braman  — 
choked  him  to  death.  A  most  revolting  murder.  I'm 
sorry  I  disturbed  you  —  good  night." 

The  girl  closed  the  door  as  he  left  it,  and  leaned 
against  it,  weak  and  shaking.  Corrigan's  voice  had 
a  curious  note  in  it.  He  had  told  her  he  was  sorry 
to  have  disturbed  her,  but  the  words  had  not  rung 
true  —  there  had  been  too  much  satisfaction  in  them. 
What  was  she  to  believe  from  this  night's  events?  One 
thought  leaped  vividly  above  the  others  that  rioted 
in  her  mind:  Trevison  had  again  sinned  against  the 
law,  and  this  time  his  crime  was  murder!  She  shrank 
away  from  the  door  and  joined  Agatha  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs. 

"Aunty,"  she  sobbed;  "I  want  to  go  away.  I  want 
to  go  back  East,  away  from  this  lawlessness  and  con 
fusion  ! " 

"  There,  there,  dear,"  soothed  Agatha.  "  I  am  sure 
everything  will  come  out  all  right.  But  Trevison  does 


ANOTHER  WOMAN  LIES  263 

look  to  be  the  sort  of  a  man  who  would  abduct  a  judge, 
doesn't  he?  If  I  were  a  girl,  and  felt  that  he  were  in 
love  with  me,  I'd  be  mighty  careful  —  " 

"That  he  wouldn't  abduct  you?"  laughed  the  girl, 
tremulously,  cheered  by  the  change  in  her  relative's 
manner. 

"  No,"  said  Agatha,  slyly.  "  I'd  be  mighty  careful 
that  he  got  me!" 

"Oh!"  said  the  girl,  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
aunt's  shoulder. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

IN  THE  DARK 

TREVISON  faced  the  darkness  between  him  and 
the  pueblo  with  a  wild  hope  pulsing  through  his 
veins.  Rosalind  Benham  had  had  an  opportunity  to 
deliver  him  into  the  hands  of  his  enemy  and  she  had 
not  taken  advantage  of  it.  There  was  but  one  inter 
pretation  that  he  might  place  upon  her  failure  to  aid 
her  accomplice.  She  declined  to  take  an  active  part  in 
the  scheme.  She  had  been  passive,  content  to  watch 
while  Corrigan  did  the  real  work.  Possibly  she  had 
no  conception  of  the  enormity  of  the  crime.  She  had 
been  eager  to  have  Corrigan  win,  and  influenced  by 
her  affection  and  his  arguments  she  had  done  what 
she  could  without  actually  committing  herself  to  the 
robbery.  It  was  a  charitable  explanation,  and  had  many 
flaws,  but  he  clung  to  it  persistently,  nurturing  it  with 
his  hopes  and  his  hunger  for  her,  building  it  up  until 
it  became  a  structure  of  logic  firmly  fixed  and  impreg 
nable.  Women  were  easily  influenced  —  that  had  been 
his  experience  with  them  —  he  was  forced  to  accept 
it  as  a  trait  of  the  sex.  So  he  absolved  her,  his  hunger 
for  her  in  no  way  sated  at  the  end. 

His  thoughts  ran  to  Corrigan  in  a  riot  of  rage  that 
pained  him  like  a  knife  thrust;  his  lust  for  vengeance 

264 


IN  THE  DARK 265 

was  a  savage,  bitter-visaged  demon  that  held  him  in 
its  clutch  and  made  his  temples  pound  with  a  yearn 
ing  to  slay.  And  that,  of  course,  would  have  to  be 
the  end.  For  the  enmity  that  lay  between  them  was 
not  a  thing  to  be  settled  by  the  law  —  it  was  a  man  to 
man  struggle  that  could  be  settled  in  only  one  way  — 
by  the  passions,  naked,  elemental,  eternal.  He  saw  it 
coming;  he  leaped  to  meet  it,  eagerly. 

Every  stride  the  black  horse  made  shortened  by  that 
much  the  journey  he  had  resolved  upon,  and  Nigger 
never  ran  as  he  was  running  now.  The  black  seemed 
to  feel  that  he  was  on  the  last  lap  of  a  race  that  had 
lasted  for  more  than  forty-eight  hours,  with  short  inter 
vals  of  rest  between,  and  he  did  his  best  without  falter 
ing. 

Order  had  come  out  of  the  chaos  of  plot  and  counter 
plot;  Trevison's  course  was  to  be  as  direct  as  his  hatred. 
He  would  go  to  the  pueblo,  take  Judge  Lindman  and 
the  record  to  Santa  Fe,  and  then  return  to  Manti  for 
a  last  meeting  with  Corrigan. 

A  late  moon,  rising  from  a  cleft  in  some  distant 
mountains,  bathed  the  plains  with  a  silvery  flood  when 
horse  and  rider  reached  a  point  within  a  mile  of  the 
pueblo,  and  Nigger  covered  the  remainder  of  the  dis 
tance  at  a  pace  that  made  the  night  air  drum  in  Trevi 
son's  ears.  The  big  black  slowed  as  he  came  to  a 
section  of  broken  country  surrounding  the  ancient  city, 
but  he  got  through  it  quickly  and  skirted  the  sand 
slopes,  taking  the  steep  acclivity  leading  to  the  ledge 
of  the  pueblo  in  a  dozen  catlike  leaps  and  coming  to 
a  halt  in  the  shadow  of  an  adobe  house,  heaving  deeply, 


266  "FIREBRAND"   TREASON 

his  rider  flung  himself  out  of  the  saddle  and  ran  along 
the  ledge  to  the  door  of  the  chamber  where  he  had 
imprisoned  Judge  Lindman. 

Trevison  could  see  no  sign  of  the  Judge  or  Levins. 
The  ledge  was  bare,  aglow,  the  openings  of  the  com 
munal  houses  facing  it  loomed  dark,  like  the  doors  of 
tombs.  A  ghastly,  unearthly  silence  greeted  Trevison's 
call  after  the  echoes  died  away;  the  upper  tier  of  adobe 
boxes  seemed  to  nod  in  ghostly  derision  as  his  gaze 
swept  them.  There  was  no  sound,  no  movement,  except 
the  regular  cough  of  his  own  laboring  lungs,  and  the 
rustle  of  his  clothing  as  his  chest  swelled  and  deflated 
with  the  effort.  He  exclaimed  impatiently  and  retraced 
his  steps,  peering  into  recesses  between  the  communal 
houses,  certain  that  the  Judge  and  Levins  had  fallen 
asleep  in  his  absence.  He  turned  at  a  corner  and  in 
a  dark  angle  almost  stumbled  over  Levins.  He  was 
lying  on  his  stomach,  his  right  arm  under  his  head,  his 
face  turned  sideways.  Trevison  thought  at  first  that 
he  was  asleep  and  prodded  him  gently  with  the  toe  of 
his  boot.  A  groan  smote  his  ears  and  he  kneeled 
quickly,  turning  Levins  over.  Something  damp  and 
warm  met  his  fingers  as  he  seized  the  man  by  the 
shoulder,  and  he  drew  the  hand  away  quickly,  exclaim 
ing  sharply  as  he  noted  the  stain  on  it. 

His  exclamation  brought  Levins'  eyes  open,  and  he 
stared  upward,  stupidly  at  first,  then  with  a  bright  gaze 
of  comprehension.  He  struggled  and  sat  up,  swaying 
from  side  to  side. 

"They  got  the  Judge,  ' Brand '• — they  run  him  off, 
with  my  cayuse !  " 


IN  THE  DARK 267 

"Who  got  him?" 

"  I  ain't  reckonin'  to  know.  Some  of  Corrigan's 
scum,  most  likely  —  I  didn't  see  'em  close." 

"How  long  ago?" 

"Not  a  hell  of  a  while.  Mebbe  fifteen  or  twenty 
minutes.  I  been  missin'  a  lot  of  time,  I  reckon.  Can't 
have  been  long,  though." 

"  Which  way  did  they  go  ?  " 

"  Off  towards  Manti.  Two  of  'em  took  him.  The 
rest  is  layin'  low  somewhere,  most  likely.  Watch  out 
they  don't  get  you!  I  ain't  seen  'em  run  off,  yet !  " 

"How  did  it  happen?" 

"  I  aint  got  it  clear  in  my  head,  yet.  Just  happened, 
I  reckon.  The  Judge  was  settin  on  the  ledge  just  in 
front  of  the  dobie  house  you  had  him  in.  I  was  mos- 
eyin'  along  the  edge,  tryin'  to  figger  out  what  a  light 
in  the  sky  off  towards  Manti  meant.  I  couldn't  fig- 
ger  it  out  —  what  in  hell  was  it,  anyway?" 

"The  courthouse  burned  —  maybe  the  bank." 

Levins  chuckled.     "You  got  the  record,  then." 

"Yes." 

"An'  I've  lost  the  Judge!  Ain't  I  a  box-head, 
though ! " 

"That's  all  right.     Go  ahead.     What  happened?" 

"I  was  moseyin  along  the  ledge.  Just  when  I  got 
to  the  slope  where  we  come  up  —  passin'  it  —  I  seen  a 
bunch  of  guys,  on  horses,  coming  out  of  the  shadow 
of  an  angle,  down  there.  I  hadn't  seen  'em  before.  I 
knowed  somethin'  was  up  an*  I  turned,  to  light  out 
for  shelter.  An'  just  then  one  of  'em  burns  me  in  the 
back  —  with  a  rifle  bullet.  It  couldn't  have  been  no  six, 


268  "FIREBRAND"   TREVISON 

from  that  distance.  It  took  the  starch  out  of  me,  an' 
I  caved,  I  reckon,  for  a  little  while.  When  I  woke  up 
the  Judge  was  gone.  The  moon  had  just  come  up  an' 
I  seen  him  ridin'  away  on  my  cayuse,  between  two  other 
guys.  I  reckon  I  must  have  gone  off  again,  when  you 
shook  me."  He  laughed,  weakly.  "What  gets  me, 
is  where  them  other  guys  went,  after  the  two  sloped 
with  the  Judge.  If  they'd  have  been  hangin'  around 
they'd  sure  have  got  you,  comin'  up  here,  wouldn't 
they?" 

Trevison's  answer  was  a  hoarse  exclamation.  He 
swung  Levins  up  and  bore  him  into  one  of  the  com 
munal  houses,  whose  opening  faced  away  from  the 
plains  and  the  activity.  Then  he  ran  to  where  he  had 
left  Nigger,  leading  the  animal  back  into  the  zig-zag 
passages,  pulling  his  rifle  out  of  the  saddle  holster  and 
stationing  himself  in  the  shadow  of  the  house  in  which 
he  had  taken  Levins. 

"  They've  come  back,  eh?  "  the  wounded  man's  voice 
floated  out  to  him. 

"  Yes  —  five  or  six  of  them.  No  —  eight!  They've 
got  sharp  eyes,  too ! "  he  added  stepping  back  as  a  rifle 
bullet  droned  over  his  head,  chipping  a  chunk  of  adobe 
from  the  roof  of  the  box  in  whose  shelter  he  stood. 

Sullenly,  Corrigan  had  returned  to  Manti  with  the 
deputies  that  had  accompanied  him  to  the  Bar  B.  He 
had  half  expected  to  find  Trevison  at  the  ranchhouse, 
for  he  had  watched  him  when  he  had  ridden  away  and 
he  seemed  to  have  been  headed  in  that  direction.  Jeal 
ousy  dwelt  darkly  in  the  big  man's  heart,  and  he  had 


IN  THE  DARK 269 

found  his  reason  for  the  suspicion  there.  He  thought 
he  knew  truth  when  he  saw  it,  and  he  would  have  sworn 
that  truth  shone  from  Rosalind  Benham's  eyes  when 
she  had  told  him  that  she  had  not  seen  Trevison  pass 
that  way.  He  had  not  known  that  what  he  took  for 
the  truth  was  the  cleverest  bit  of  acting  the  girl  had 
ever  been  called  upon  to  do.  He  had  decided  that 
Trevison  had  swrung  off  the  Bar  B  trail  somewhere 
between  Manti  and  the  ranchhouse,  and  he  led  his  dep 
uties  back  to  town,  content  to  permit  his  men  to  con 
tinue  the  search  for  Trevison,  for  he  was  convinced 
that  the  latter's  visit  to  the  courthouse  had  resulted 
in  disappointment,  for  he  had  faith  in  Judge  Lindman's 
declaration  that  he  had  destroyed  the  record.  He  had 
accused  himself  many  times  for  his  lack  of  caution  in 
not  being  present  when  the  record  had  been  destroyed, 
but  regrets  had  become  impotent  and  futile. 

Reaching  Manti,  he  dispersed  his  deputies  and 
sought  his  bed  in  the  Castle.  He  had  not  been  in  bed 
more  than  an  hour  when  an  attendant  of  the  hotel 
called  to  him  through  the  door  that  a  man  named  Gieger 
wanted  to  talk  with  him,  below.  He.  dressed  and  went 
down  to  the  street,  to  find  Gieger  and  another  deputy 
sitting  on  their  horses  in  front  of  the  hotel  with  Judge 
Lindman,  drooping  from  his  long  vigil,  between 
them. 

Corrigan  grinned  scornfully  at  the  Judge. 

"  Clever,  eh?  "  he  sneered.  He  spoke  softly,  for  the 
dawn  was  not  far  away,  and  he  knew  that  a  voice 
carries  resonantly  at  that  hour. 

"  I   don't   understand  you !  "      Judicial   dignity   sat 


270  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

sadly  on  the  Judge;  he  was  tired  and  haggard,  and  his 
voice  was  a  weak  treble.  "  If  you  mean  —  " 

"  I'll  show  you  what  I  mean."  Corrigan  motioned 
to  the  deputies.  "Bring  him  along!"  Leading  the 
way  he  took  them  through  Manti's  back  door  across  a 
railroad  spur  to  a  shanty  beside  the  track  which  the 
engineer  in  charge  of  the  dam  occasionally  occupied 
when  his  duty  compelled  him  to  check  up  arriving  mate 
rial  and  supplies.  Because  plans  and  other  valuable 
papers  were  sometimes  left  in  the  shed  it  was  stoutly 
built,  covered  with  corrugated  iron,  and  the  windows 
barred  with  iron,  prison-like.  Reaching  the  shed,  Cor 
rigan  unlocked  the  door,  shoved  the  Judge  inside,  closed 
the  door  on  the  Judge's  indignant  protests,  questioned 
the  deputies  briefly,  gave  them  orders  and  then  re- 
entered  the  shed,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

He  towered  over  the  Judge,  who  had  sunk  weakly 
to  a  bench.  It  was  pitch  dark  in  the  shed,  but  Corri 
gan  had  seen  the  Judge  drop  on  the  bench  and  knew 
exactly  where  he  was. 

"I  want  the  whole  story — without  any  reserva 
tions,"  said  Corrigan,  hoarsely;  "  and  I  want  it  quick 

—  as  fast  as  you  can  talk!" 

The  Judge  got  up,  resenting  the  other's  tone.  He 
had  also  a  half-formed  resolution  to  assert  his  independ 
ence,  for  he  had  received  certain  assurances  from  Trev- 
ison  with  regard  to  his  past  which  had  impressed  him 

—  and  still  impressed  him. 

"I  refuse  to  be  questioned  by  you,  sir — especially 

in  this  manner!     I  do  not  purpose  to  take  further  —  " 

The  Judge  felt  Corrigan's  fingers  at  his  throat,  and 


IN  THE  DARK 271 

gasped  with  horror,  throwing  up  his  hands  to  ward 
them  off,  failed,  and  heard  Corrigan's  laugh  as  the 
fingers  gripped  his  throat  and  held. 

When  the  Judge  came  to,  it  was  with  an  excruciat 
ingly  painful  struggle  that  left  him  shrinking  and  nerve 
less,  lying  in  a  corner,  blinking  at  the  light  of  a  ker 
osene  lamp.  Corrigan  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  flat-topped 
desk  watching  him  with  an  ugly,  appraising,  speculative 
grin.  It  was  as  though  the  man  were  mentally  gambling 
on  his  chances  to  recover  from  the  throttling. 

"Well,"  he  said  when  the  Judge  at  last  struggled 
and  sat  up;  "how  do  you  like  it?  You'll  get  more  if 
you  don't  talk  fast  and  straight !  Who  wrote  that  let 
ter,  from  Dry  Bottom?" 

Neither  judicial  dignity  or  resolutions  of  independ 
ence  could  resist  the  threatened  danger  of  further 
violence  that  shone  from  Corrigan's  eyes,  and  the  Judge 
whispered  gaspingly: 

"Trevison." 

"I  thought  so!  Now,  be  careful  how  you  answer 
this.  What  did  Trevison  want  in  the  courthouse?" 

"  The  original  record  of  the  land  transfers." 

"  Did  he  get  it?  "  Corrigan's  voice  was  dangerously 
even,  and  the  Judge  squirmed  and  coughed  before  he 
spoke  the  hesitating  word  that  was  an  admission  of 
his  deception : 

"I  told  him  —  where  —  it  was." 

Paralyzed  with  fear,  the  Judge  watched  Corrigan 
slip  off  the  desk  and  approach  him.  He  got  to  his 
feet  and  raised  his  hands  to  shield  his  throat  as  the  big 
man  stopped  in  front  of  him. 


272  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

"Don't,  Corrigan  —  don't,  for  God's  sake!" 
"  Bah !  "  said  the  big  man.     He  struck,  venomously. 
An  instant  later  he  put  out  the  light  and  stepped  down 
into  the  gray  dawn,  locking  the  door  of  the  shanty 
behind  him  and  not  looking  back. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  ASHES 

R3SALIND  BENHAM  got  up  with  the  dawn  and 
looked  out  of  a  window  toward  Manti.  She  had 
not  slept.  She  stood  at  the  window  for  some  time  and 
then  returned  to  the  bed  and  sat  on  its  edge,  staring 
thoughtfully  downward.  She  could  not  get  Trevison 
out  of  her  mind.  It  seemed  to  her  that  a  crisis 
had  come  and  that  it  was  imperative  for  her  to  reach 
a  decision  —  to  pronounce  judgment.  She  was  trying 
to  do  this  calmly;  she  was  trying  to  keep  sentiment  from 
prejudicing  her.  She  found  it  difficult  when  consider 
ing  Trevison,  but  when  she  arrayed  Hester  Harvey 
against  her  longing  for  the  man  she  found  that  her 
scorn  helped  her  to  achieve  a  mental  balance  that  per 
mitted  her  to  think  of  him  almost  dispassionately.  She 
became  a  mere  onlooker,  with  a  calm,  clear  vision.  In 
this  role  she  weighed  him.  His  deeds,  his  manner,  his 
claims,  she  arrayed  against  Corrigan  and  his  counter 
claims  and  ambitions,  and  was  surprised  to  discover 
that  were  she  to  be  called  upon  to  pass  judgment  on 
the  basis  of  this  surface  evidence  she  would  have  decided 
in  favor  of  Trevison.  She  had  fought  against  that, 
for  it  was  a  tacit  admission  that  her  father  was  in  some 
way  connected  with  Corrigan's  scheme,  but  she  admitted 

273 


274  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

it  finally,  with  a  pulse  of  repugnance,  and  when  she 
placed  Levins'  story  on  the  mental  balance,  with  the 
knowledge  that  she  had  seen  the  record  which  seemed 
to  prove  the  contention  of  fraud  in  the  land  trans 
action,  the  evidence  favored  Trevison  overwhelmingly. 

She  got  up  and  began  to  dress,  her  lips  set  with  deter 
mination.  Corrigan  had  held  her  off  once  with  plaus 
ible  explanations,  but  she  would  not  permit  him  to  do 
so  again.  She  intended  to  place  the  matter  before  her 
father.  Justice  must  be  done.  Before  she  had  half 
finished  dressing  she  heard  a  rustle  and  turned  to  see 
Agatha  standing  in  the  doorway  connecting  their  rooms. 

"What  is  it,  dear?" 

"  I  can't  stand  the  suspense  any  longer,  Aunty.  There 
is  something  very  wrong  about  that  land  business.  I 
am  going  to  telegraph  to  father  about  it." 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  do  that,  dear.  It  seems 
to  me  that  that  young  Trevison  is  too  much  in  earnest 
to  be  fighting  for  something  that  does  not  belong  to 
him.  If  ever  there  was  honesty  in  a  man's  face  it  was 
in  his  face  last  night.  I  don't  believe  for  a  minute 
that  your  father  is  concerned  in  Corrigan's  schemes  — 
if  there  are  schemes.  But  it  won't  do  any  harm  to 
learn  what  your  father  thinks  about  it.  My  dear  —  " 
she  stepped  to  the  girl  and  placed  an  arm  around  her 
waist  "  —  last  night  as  I  watched  Trevison,  he  reminded 
me  of  a  —  a  very  dear  friend  that  I  once  knew.  I 
saw  the  wreck  of  my  own  romance,  my  dear.  He  was 
just  such  a  man  as  Trevison  —  reckless,  impulsive,  and 
impetuous  —  dare-devil  who  would  not  tolerate  injus 
tice  or  oppression.  They  wouldn't  let  me  have  him, 


THE  ASHES  275 


my  dear,  and  I  never  would  have  another  man.  He 
went  away,  joined  the  army,  and  was  killed  at  the  battle 
of  Kenesaw  Mountain.  I  have  kept  his  memory  fresh 
in  my  heart,  and  last  night  when  I  looked  at  Trevison 
it  seemed  to  me  that  he  must  be  the  reincarnation  of 
the  only  man  I  ever  loved.  There  must  be  something 
terribly  wrong  to  make  him  act  the  way  he  does,  my 
dear.  And  he  loves  you." 

The  girl  bit  her  lips  to  repress  the  swelling  emotions 
which  clamored  in  wild  response  to  this  sympathetic 
understanding.  She  looked  at  Agatha,  to  see  tears  in 
her  eyes,  and  she  wheeled  impulsively  and  threw  her 
arms  around  the  other's  neck. 

"Oh,  I  know  exactly  how  you  feel,  Aunty.  But  —  " 
she  gulped  "  —  he  doesn't  love  me." 

"I  saw  it  in  his  eyes,  my  dear."  Agatha's  smile 
was  tender  and  reminiscent.  "  Don't  you  worry.  He 
will  find  a  way  to  let  you  know  —  as  he  will  find  a  way 
to  beat  Corrigan  —  if  Corrigan  is  trying  to  defraud 
him!  He's  that  kind,  my  dear !" 

In  spite  of  her  aunt's  assurances  the  girl's  heart  was 
heavy  as  she  began  her  ride  to  Manti.  Trevison  might 
love  her, —  she  had  read  that  it  was  possible  for  a 
man  to  love  two  women  —  but  she  could  never  return 
his  love,  knowing  of  his  affair  with  Hester.  He  should 
have  justice,  however,  if  they  were  trying  to  defraud 
him  of  his  rights ! 

Long  before  she  reached  Manti  she  saw  the  train 
from  Dry  Bottom,  due  at  Manti  at  six  o'clock,  gliding 
over  the  plains  toward  the  town,  and  when  she  arrived 
at  the  station  its  passengers  had  been  swallowed  by 


276  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

Manti's  buildings  and  the  station  agent  and  an  assistant 
were  dragging  and  bumping  trunks  and  boxes  over  the 
station  platform. 

The  agent  bowed  deferentially  to  her  and  followed 
her  into  the  telegraph  room,  clicking  her  message  over 
the  wires  as  soon  as  she  had  written  it.  When  he  had 
finished  he  wheeled  his  chair  and  grinned  at  her. 

"See  the  courthouse  and  the  bank?" 

She  had —  all  that  was  left  of  them  —  black,  charred 
ruins  with  two  iron  safes,  red  from  their  baptism  of 
fire,  standing  among  them.  Also  two  other  buildings, 
one  on  each  side  of  the  two  that  had  been  destroyed, 
scorched  and  warped,  but  otherwise  undamaged. 

"  Come  pretty  near  burning  the  whole  town.  It  took 
some  work  to  confine  that  fire  —  coal  oil.  Trevison 
did  a  clean  job.  Robbed  the  safe  in  the  bank.  Killed 
Braman  —  guzzled  him.  An  awful  complete  job,  from 
Trevison's  viewpoint.  The  town's  riled,  and  I  wouldn't 
give  a  plugged  cent  for  Trevison's  chances.  He's 
sloped.  Desperate  character  —  I  always  thought  he'd 
rip  things  loose  —  give  him  time.  It  was  him  blowed 
up  Corrigan's  mine.  I  ain't  seen  Corrigan  since  last 
night,  but  I  heard  him  and  twenty  or  thirty  deputies 
are  on  Trevison's  trail.  I  hope  they  get  him."  He 
squinted  at  her.  "  There's  trouble  brewing  in  this  town, 
Miss  Benham.  I  wouldn't  advise  you  to  stay  here  any 
longer  than  is  absolutely  necessary.  There's  two  fac 
tions —  looks  like.  It's  about  that  land  deal.  Lefing- 
well  and  some  more  of  them  think  they've  been  given 
a  raw  decision  by  the  court  and  Corrigan.  Excitement ! 
Oh,  Lord !  This  town  is  fierce.  I  ain't  had  any  sleep 


THE  ASHES  277 


in —  Your  answer?  I  can't  tell.  Mebbe  right  away. 
Mebbe  in  an  hour." 

Rosalind  went  out  upon  the  platform.  The  agent's 
words  had  revived  a  horror  that  she  had  almost  for 
gotten —  that  she  wanted  to  forget  —  the  murder  of 
Braman. 

She  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  station  platform,  tor 
tured  by  thoughts  in  which  she  could  find  no  excuse 
for  Trevison.  Murderer  and  robber !  A  fugitive  from 
justice  —  the  very  justice  he  had  been  demanding !  Her 
thoughts  made  her  weak  and  sick,  and  she  stepped 
down  from  the  platform  and  walked  up  the  track, 
halting  beside  a  shed  and  leaning  against  it.  Across 
the  street  from  her  was  the  Castle  hotel.  A  man  in 
boots,  corduroy  trousers,  and  a  flannel  shirt  and  dirty 
white  apron,  his  sleeves  rolled  to  the  elbows,  was  wash 
ing  the  front  windows  and  spitting  streams  of  tobacco 
juice  on  the  board  walk.  She  shivered.  A  grocer  next 
to  the  hotel  was  adjusting  a  swinging  shelf  affixed  to 
the  store-front,  preparatory  to  piling  his  wares  upon 
it;  a  lean-faced  man  standing  in  a  doorway  in  the  build 
ing  adjoining  the  grocery  was  inspecting  a  six-shooter 
that  he  had  removed  from  the  holster  at  his  side.  Ros 
alind  shivered  again.  Civilization  and  outlawrry  were 
strangely  mingled  here.  She  would  not  have  been  sur 
prised  to  see  the  lean-faced  man  begin  to  shoot  at  the 
others.  Filled  with  sudden  trepidation  she  took  a  step 
away  from  the  shed,  intending  to  return  to  the  station 
and  wait  for  her  answer. 

As  she  moved  she  heard  a  low  moan.  She  started, 
paling,  and  then  stood  stock  still,  trembling  with  dread, 


278  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

but  determined  not  to  run.  The  sound  came  again, 
seeming  to  issue  from  the  interior  of  the  shed,  and 
she  retraced  her  step  and  leaned  again  against  the 
wall  of  the  building,  listening. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  sound  —  someone  was 
in  trouble.  But  she  wanted  to  be  certain  before  call 
ing  for  help  and  she  listened  again  to  hear  an  unmis 
takable  pounding  on  the  wall  near  her,  and  a  voice, 
calling  frenziedly:  "Help,  help  —  for  God's  sake!" 

Her  fears  fled  and.  she  sprang  to  the  door,  finding 
it  locked.  She  rattled  it,  impotently,  and  then  left  it 
and  ran  across  the  street  to  where  the  window-washer 
stood.  He  wheeled  and  spat  copiously,  almost  in  her 
face,  as  she  rapidly  told  him  her  news,  and  then  delib 
erately  dropped  his  brush  and  cloth  into  the  dust  and 
mud  at  his  feet  and  jumped  after  her,  across  the  street. 

"Who's  in  here?"  demanded  the  man,  hammering 
on  the  door. 

"  It's  I  —  Judge  Lindman !  Open  the  door!  Hurry! 
I'm  smothering — and  hurt!" 

In  what  transpired  within  the  next  few  minutes  — 
and  indeed  during  the  hours  following  —  the  girl  felt 
like  an  outsider.  No  one  paid  any  attention  to  her; 
she  was  shoved,  jostled,  buffeted,  by  the  crowd  that 
gathered,  swarming  from  all  directions.  But  she  was 
intensely  interested. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  every  person  in  Manti  gath 
ered  in  front  of  the  shed  —  that  all  had  heard  of  the 
abduction  of  the  Judge.  Some  one  secured  an  iron 
bar  and  battered  the  lock  off  the  door;  a  half-dozen 
men  dragged  the  Judge  out,  and  he  stood  in  front  of 


THE  ASHES  279 


the  building,  swaying  in  the  hands  of  his  supporters, 
his  white  hair  disheveled,  his  lips  blood-stained  and 
smashed,  where  Corrigan  had  hit  him.  The  frenzy  of 
terror  held  him,  and  he  looked  wildly  around  at  the  tiers 
of  faces  confronting  him,  the  cords  of  his  neck  stand 
ing  out  and  writhing  spasmodically.  Twice  he  opened 
his  lips  to  speak,  but  each  time  his  words  died  in  a  dry 
gasp.  At  the  third  effort  he  shrieked : 

"I  —  I  want  protection!  Don't  let  him  touch  me 
again,  men!  He  means  to  kill  me!  Don't  let  him 
touch  me !  I  —  I've  been  attacked  —  choked  —  knocked 
insensible !  I  appeal  to  you  as  American  citizens  for 
protection !" 

It  was  fear,  stark,  naked,  cringing,  that  the  crowd 
saw.  Faces  blanched,  bodies  stiffened;  a  concerted 
breath,  like  a  sigh,  rose  into  the  flat,  desert  air.  Rosa 
lind  clenched  her  hands  and  stood  rigid,  thrilling  with 
pity. 

"Who  done  it?"  A  dozen  voices  asked  the  ques 
tion. 

"  Corrigan !  "  The  Judge  screamed  this,  hysterically. 
"  He  is  a  thief  and  a  scoundrel,  men!  He  has  plun 
dered  this  county !  He  has  prostituted  your  court.  Your 
judge,  too!  I  admit  it.  But  I  ask  your  mercy,  men! 
I  was  forced  into  it !  He  threatened  me  !  He  falsified 
the  land  records !  He  wanted  me  to  destroy  the  orig 
inal  record,  but  I  didn't  —  I  told  Trevison  where  it  was 
—  I  hid  it!  And  because  I  wouldn't  help  Corrigan  to 
rob  you,  he  tried  to  kill  me !  " 

A  murmur,  low,  gutteral,  vindictive,  rippled  over 
the  crowd,  which  had  now  swelled  to  such  proportions 


28o  "FIREBRAND"  TREVI&ON 

that  the  street  could  not  hold  it.  It  fringed  the  rail 
road  track;  men  were  packed  against  the  buildings  sur 
rounding  the  shed;  they  shoved,  jostled  and  squirmed 
in  an  effort  to  get  closer  to  the  Judge.  The  windows 
of  the  Castle  hotel  were  filled  with  faces,  among  which 
Rosalind  saw  Hester  Harvey's,  ashen,  her  eyes  aglow. 

The  Judge's  words  had  stabbed  Rosalind  —  each 
like  a  separate  knife-thrust;  they  had  plunged  her  into 
a  mental  vacuum  in  which  her  brain,  atrophied,  reeled, 
paralyzed.  She  staggered  —  a  man  caught  her,  mut 
tered  something  about  there  being  too  much  excitement 
for  a  lady,  and  gruffly  ordered  others  to  clear  the  way 
that  he  might  lead  her  out  of  the  jam.  She  resisted, 
for  she  was  determined  to  stay  to  hear  the  Judge  to 
the  end,  and  the  man  grinned  hugely  at  her;  and  to 
escape  the  glances  that  she  could  feel  were  directed 
at  her  she  slipped  through  the  crowd  and  sought  the 
front  of  the  shed,  leaning  against  it,  weakly. 

A  silence  had  followed  the  murmur  that  had  run 
over  the  crowd.  There  was  a  breathless  period,  during 
which  every  man  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  his  neighbor 
to  take  the  initiative.  They  wanted  a  leader.  And  he 
appeared,  presently  —  a  big,  broad-shouldered  man 
forced  his  way  through  the  crowd  and  halted  in  front 
of  the  Judge. 

"  I  reckon  we'll  protect  you,  Judge.  Just  spit  out 
what  you  got  to  say.  We'll  stand  by  you.  Where's 
Trevison?  " 

"He  came  to  the  courthouse  last  night  to  get  the 
record.  I  told  him  where  it  was.  He  forced  me  to  go 
with  him  to  an  Indian  pueblo,  and  he  kept  me  there 


THE  ASHES  281 


yesterday.  He  left  me  there  last  night  with  Clay 
Levins,  while  he  came  here  to  get  the  record." 

"  Do  you  reckon  he  got  it?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  But  from  the  way  Corrigan  acted 
last  night  —  " 

"Yes,  yes;  he  got  It!" 

The  words  shifted  the  crowd's  gaze  to  Rosalind, 
swiftly.  The  girl  had  hardly  realized  that  she  had 
spoken.  Her  senses,  paralyzed  a  minute  before,  had 
received  the  electric  shock  of  sympathy  from  a  con 
tinued  study  of  the  Judge's  face.  She  saw  remorse  on 
it,  regret,  shame,  and  the  birth  of  a  resolution  to  make 
whatever  reparation  that  was  within  his  power,  at 
whatever  cost.  It  was  a  weak  face,  but  it  was  not 
vicious,  and  while  she  had  been  standing  there  she  had 
noted  the  lines  of  suffering.  It  was  not  until  the 
girl  felt  the  gaze  of  many  curious  eyes  on  her  that 
she  realized  she  had  committed  herself,  and  her  cheeks 
flamed.  She  set  herself  to  face  the  stares;  she  must 
go  on  now. 

"It's  Benham's  girl!'*  she  heard  a  man  standing 
near  her  whisper  hoarsely,  and  she  faced  them,  her 
chin  held  high,  a  queer  joy  leaping  in  her  heart.  She 
knew  at  this  minute  that  her  sympathies  had  been  with 
Trevison  all  along;  that  she  had  always  suspected  Cor 
rigan,  but  had  fought  against  the  suspicion  because  of 
the  thought  that  in  some  way  her  father  might  be 
dragged  into  the  affair.  It  had  been  a  cowardly  atti 
tude,  and  she  was  glad  that  she  had  shaken  it  off.  As 
her  brain,  under  the  spur  of  the  sudden  excitement, 
resumed  its  function,  her  thoughts  flitted  to  the  agent's 


282  "FIREBRAND"  TREASON 

babble  during  the  time  she  had  been  sending  the  tele 
gram  to  her  father.  She  talked  rapidly,  her  voice 
carrying  far: 

"Trevison  got  the  record  last  night.  He  stopped 
at  my  ranch  and  showed  it  to  me.  I  suppose  he  was 
going  to  the  pueblo,  expecting  to  meet  Levins  and  Lind- 
man  there  —  " 

"  By  God!  "  The  big,  broad-shouldered  man  stand 
ing  at  Judge  Lindman's  side  interrupted  her.  He 
turned  and  faced  the  crowd.  "  We're  damned  fools, 
boys  —  lettin'  this  thing  go  on  like  we  have!  Cor- 
rigan's  took  his  deputies  out,  trailin'  Trevison,  chargin' 
him  with  murderin'  Braman,  when  his  real  purpose  is 
to  get  his  claws  on  that  record !  Trevison's  been  fightin' 
our  fight  for  us,  an1  we've  stood  around  like  a  lot  of 
gillies,  lettin'  him  do  it!  It's  likely  that  a  man  who'd 
cook  up  a  deal  like  the  Judge,  here,  says  Corrigan  has, 
would  cook  up  another,  chargin'  Trevison  with  guzzlin' 
the  banker.  I've  knowed  Trevison  a  long  time,  boys, 
an'  I  don't  believe  he'd  guzzle  anybody  —  he's  too 
square  a  man  for  that!"  He  stood  on  his  toes,  rais 
ing  his  clenched  hands,  and  bringing  them  down  with 
a  sweep  of  furious  emphasis. 

The  crowd  swayed  restlessly.  Rosalind  saw  it  split 
apart,  men  fighting  to  open  a  pathway  for  a  woman. 
There  were  shouts  of:  "Open  up,  there!"  "Let  the 
lady  through  !  "  "  Gangway !  "  "  She's  got  somethin' 
to  say!"  And  the  girl  caught  her  breath  sharply,  for 
she  recognized  the  woman  as  Hester  Harvey. 

It  was  some  time  before  Hester  reached  the  broad- 
shouldered  man's  side.  There  was  a  stain  in  each  of 


"You  men  are  blind.    Corrigan  is  a  crook  who  will  stop  at  nothing" 


THE  ASHES  283 


her  cheeks,  but  outwardly,  at  least,  she  showed  none 
of  the  excitement  that  had  seized  the  crowd;  her  move 
ments  were  deliberate  and  there  was  a  resolute  set  to 
her  lips.  She  got  through,  finally,  and  halted  beside 
the  big  man,  the  crowd  closing  up  behind  her.  She 
was  swallowed  in  it,  lost  to  sight. 

"Lift  her  up,  Lefingwell!"  suggested  a  man  on  the 
outer  fringe.  "  If  she's  got  anything  to  say,  let  us  all 
hear  it !  "  The  suggestion  was  caught  up,  insistently. 

"If  you  ain't  got  no  objections,  ma'am,"  said  the 
big  man.  He  stooped  at  her  cold  smile  and  swung  her 
to  his  shoulder.  She  spoke  slowly  and  distinctly,  though 
there  was  a  tremor  in  her  voice : 

"Trevison  did  not  kill  Braman  —  it  was  Corrigan. 
Corrigan  was  in  my  room  in  the  Castle  last  night  just 
after  dark.  When  he  left,  I  watched  him  from  my  win 
dow,  after  putting  out  the  light.  He  had  threatened 
to  kill- Braman.  I  watched  him  cross  the  street  and  go 
around  to  the  rear  of  the  bank  building.  There  was  a 
light  in  the  rear  room  of  the  bank.  After  a  while 
Braman  and  Corrigan  entered  the  banking  room.  The 
light  from  the  rear  room  shone  on  them  for  an  instant 
and  I  recognized  them.  They  were  at  the  safe.  When 
they  went  out  they  left  the  safe  door  open.  After  a 
while  the  light  went  out  and  I  saw  Corrigan  come  from 
around  the  rear  of  the  building,  recross  the  street  and 
come  into  the  Castle.  You  men  are  blind.  Corrigan 
is  a  crook  who  will  stop  at  nothing.  If  you  let  him 
injure  Trevison  for  a  crime  that  Trevison  did  not  com 
mit  you  deserve  to  be  robbed!" 

Lefingwell  swung  her  down  from  his  shoulder. 


284  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

"  I  reckon  that  cinches  it,  boys ! "  he  bellowed  over 
the  heads  of  the  men  nearest  him.  "  There  ain't  nothin' 
plainer!  If  we  stand  for  this  we're  a  bunch  of  cow 
ardly  coyotes  that  ain't  fit  to  look  Trevison  in  the  face ! 
I'm  goin'  to  help  him !  Who's  comin'  along?  " 

A  chorus  of  shouts  drowned  his  last  words;  the 
crowd  was  in  motion,  swift,  with  definite  purpose.  It 
melted,  streaming  off  in  all  directions,  like  the  sweep 
of  water  from  a  bursted  dam.  It  broke  at  the  doors 
of  the  buildings;  it  sought  the  stables.  Men  bearing 
rifles  appeared  in  the  street,  mounting  horses  and  con 
gregating  in  front  of  the  Belmont,  where  Lefingwell 
had  gone.  Other  men,  on  the  board  sidewalk  and  in 
the  dust  of  the  street,  were  running,  shouting,  gesticu 
lating.  In  an  instant  the  town  had  become  a  bedlam 
of  portentous  force;  it  was  the  first  time  in  its  history 
that  the  people  of  Manti  had  looked  with  collective 
vision,  and  the  girl  reeled  against  the  iron  wall  of  the 
shed,  appalled  at  the  resistless  power  that  had  been 
set  in  motion.  On  a  night  when  she  sat  on  the 
porch  of  the  Bar  B  ranchhouse  she  had  looked  toward 
Manti,  thrilled  over  a  pretty  mental  fancy.  She  had 
thought  it  all  a  game  —  wondrous,  joyous,  progressive. 
She  had  neglected  to  associate  justice  with  it  then  — 
the  inexorable  rule  of  fairness  under  which  every  player 
of  the  game  must  bow.  She  brought  it  into  use  now, 
felt  the  spirit  of  it,  saw  the  dire  tragedy  that  its  perver 
sion  portended,  groaned,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

She  looked  around  after  a  while.  She  saw  Judge 
Lindman  walking  across  the  street  toward  the  Castle, 


THE  ASHES  285 


supported  by  two  other  men.  A  third  followed;  she 
did  not  know  him,  but  Corrigan  would  have  recognized 
him  as  the  hotel  clerk  who  had  grown  confidential  upon 
a  certain  day.  The  girl  heard  his  voice  as  he  followed 
after  the  Judge  and  the  others  —  raucous,  vindictive: 

"We  need  men  like  Trevison  in  this  town.  We  can 
get  along  without  any  Corrigans." 

She  heard  a  voice  behind  her  and  she  turned,  swiftly, 
to  see  Hester  Harvey  walking  toward  her.  She  would 
have  avoided  the  meeting,  but  she  saw  that  Hester  was 
intent  on  speaking  and  she  drew  herself  erect,  bowing 
to  her  with  cold  courtesy  as  the  woman  stopped  within 
a  step  of  her  and  smiled. 

'  You  look  ready  to  flop  into  hysterics,  dearie !  Won't 
you  come  over  to  my  room  with  me  and  have  something 
to  brace  you  up?  A  cup  of  tea?"  she  added  with  a 
laugh  as  Rosalind  looked  quickly  at  her.  She  did  not 
seem  to  notice  the  stiffening  of  the  girl's  body,  but 
linked  her  arm  within  her  own  and  began  to  walk  across 
the  street.  The  girl  was  racked  with  emotion  over  the 
excitement  of  the  morning,  the  dread  of  impending 
violence,  and  half  frantic  with  anxiety  over  Trevison's 
safety.  Hester's  offense  against  her  seemed  vague 
and  far,  and  very  insignificant,  relatively.  She  yearned 
to  exchange  confidences  with  somebody  —  anybody,  and 
this  woman,  even  though  she  were  what  she  thought 
her,  had  a  capacity  for  feeling,  for  sympathy.  And 
she  was  very,  very  tired  of  it  all. 

"  It  was  fierce,  wasn't  it?  "  said  Hester  a  few  minutes 
later  in  the  privacy  of  her  room,  as  she  balanced  her 
cup  and  watched  Rosalind  as  the  girl  ate,  hungrily. 


286  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

"These  sagebrush  rough-necks  out  here  will  make  Cor- 
rigan  hump  himself  to  keep  out  of  their  way.  But  he 
deserves  it,  the  crook!" 

The  girl  looked  curiously  at  the  other,  trying  hard 
to  reconcile  the  vindictiveness  of  these  words  and  the 
woman's  previous  action  in  giving  damaging  testimony 
against  Corrigan,  with  the  significant  fact  that  Corri- 
gan  had  been  in  her  room  the  night  before,  presumably 
as  a  guest.  Hester  caught  the  look  and  laughed.  uYes, 
dearie,  he  deserves  it.  How  much  do  you  know  of 
what  has  been  going  on  here  ?  " 

"  Very  little^  I  am  afraid." 

"Less  than  that,  I  suspect.  I  happen  to  know  con 
siderable,  and  I  am  going  to  tell  you  about  it.  My  trip 
out  here  has  been  a  sort  of  a  wild-goose  chase.  I 
thought  I  wanted  Trevison,  but  I've  discovered  I'm  not 
badly  hurt  by  his  refusal  to  resume  our  old  relations." 

The  girl  gasped  and  almost  dropped  her  cup,  setting 
it  down  slowly  afterward  and  staring  at  her  hostess 
with  doubting,  fearing,  incredulous  eyes. 

"Yes,  dearie,"  laughed  the  other,  with  a  trace  of 
embarrassment;  "you  can  trust  your  ears  on  that  state 
ment.  To  make  certain,  I'll  repeat  it:  I  am  not  very 
badly  hurt  by  his  refusal  to  resume  our  old  relations. 
Do  you  know  what  that  means?  It  means  that  he 
turned  me  down  cold,  dearie." 

"Do  you  mean  — "  began  the  girl,  gripping  the 
table  edge. 

"  I  mean  that  I  lied  to  you.  The  night  I  went  over 
to  Trevison's  ranch  he  told  me  plainly  that  he  didn't 
like  me  one  teenie,  weenie  bit  any  more.  He  wouldn't 


THE  ASHES  287 


kiss  me,  shake  my  hand,  or  welcome  me  in  any  way. 
He  told  me  he'd  got  over  it,  the  same  as  he'd  got  over 
his  measles  days  —  he'd  outgrown  it  and  was  going  to 
throw  himself  at  the  feet  of  another  goddess.  Oh, 
yes,  he  meant  you !  "  she  laughed,  her  voice  a  little  too 
high,  perhaps,  with  an  odd  note  of  bitterness  in  it. 
"Then,  determined  to  blot  my  rival  out,  I  lied  about 
you.  I  told  him  that  you  loved  Corrigan  and  that  you 
were  in  the  game  to  rob  him  of  his  land.  Oh,  I 
blackened  you,  dearie!  It  hurt  him,  too.  For  when 
a  man  like  Trevison  loves  a  woman  —  " 

"How  could  you!"  said  the  girl,  shuddering. 

"  Please  don't  get  dramatic,"  jeered  the  other.  "  The 
rules  that  govern  the  love  game  are  very  elastic  —  for 
some  women.  I  played  it  strong,  but  there  was  no 
chance  for  me  from  the  beginning.  Trevison  thinks 
you  are  Corrigan's  trump  card  in  this  game.  It  is  a 
game,  isn't  it.  But  he  loves  you  in  spite  of  it  all.  He 
told  me  he'd  go  to  the  gallows  for  you.  Aren't  men 
the  sillies !  But  just  the  same,  dearie,  we  women  like 
to  hear  them  murmur  those  little  heroic  things,  don't 
we?  It  was  on  the  night  I  told  him  you'd  told  Cor 
rigan  about  the  dynamiting." 

"Oh!"  said  the  girl. 

"That  was  my  high  card,"  laughed  the  .woman, 
harshly.  "  He  took  it  and  derided  me.  I  decided  right 
then  that  I  wouldn't  play  any  more." 

"Then  he  didn't  send  for  you?" 

"Corrigan  did  that,  dearie." 

"You  —  you  knew  Corrigan  before  —  before  you 
came  here?" 


288  "FIREBRAND"   T  REV  I  SON 

"You  can  guess  intelligently,  can't  you?" 

"  Corrigan  planned  it  all?" 

"All."  Hester  watched  as  the  girl  bowed  her  head 
and  sobbed  convulsively. 

"  What  a  brazen,  crafty  and  unprincipled  thing  Trev- 
ison  must  think  me  !  " 

Hester  reached  out  a  hand  and  laid  it  on  the  girl's. 
"I — there  was  a  time  when  I  would  have  done  mur 
der  to  have  him  think  of  me  as  he  thinks  of  you,  dearie. 
He  isn't  for  me,  though,  and  I  can't  spoil  any  woman's 
happiness.  There's  little  enough  —  but  I'm  not  going 
to  philosophize.  I  was  going  away  without  telling  you 
this.  I  don't  know  why  I  am  telling  it  now.  I  always 
was  a  little  soft.  But  if  you  hadn't  spoken  as  you  did 
a  while  ago  in  that  crowd  —  taking  Trevison's  end  —  I 
—  I  think  you'd  never  have  known.  Somehow,  it 
seemed  you  deserved  him,  dearie.  And  I  couldn't  bear 
to  —  to  think  of  him  facing  any  more  disappointment. 
He  —  he  took  it  so  —  " 

The  girl  looked  up,  to  see  the  woman's  eyes  filling 
with  a  luminous  mist.  A  quick  conception  of  what  this 
all  meant  to  the  woman  thrilled  the  girl.  She  got  up 
and  walked  to  the  woman's  side.  "  I'm  so  sorry,  Hes 
ter,"  she  said  as  her  arms  stole  around  the  other's  neck. 

She  went  out  a  little  later,  into  the  glaring,  shim 
mering  sunlight  of  the  morning,  her  cheeks  red,  her 
eyes  aglow,  her  heart  racing  wildly,  to  see  an  engine 
and  a  luxurious  private  car  just  pulling  from  the  main 
track  to  a  switch. 

"Oh,"  she  whispered,  joyously;  "it's  father's!" 


THE  ASHES  289 


And  she  ran  toward  it,  tingling  with  a  new-found 
hope. 

In  her  room  at  the  Castle  sat  a  woman  who  was 
finding  the  world  very  empty.  It  held  nothing  for  her 
except  the  sad  consolation  of  repentance. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  FIGHT 

u  F  I^HE  boss  is  sure  a  she-wolf  at  playin'  a  lone 
JL  hand,"  growled  Barkwell,  shortly  after  dusk,  to 
Jud  Weaver,  the  straw  boss.  "  Seems  he  thinks  his 
friends  is  delicate  ornaments  which  any  use  would  bust 
to  smithereens.  Here's  his  outfit  layin'  around,  bitin' 
their  finger  nails  with  ongwoo  an'  pinin'  away  to  slivers 
yearnin'  to  get  into  the  big  meal-lee,  an'  him  racin'  an' 
tearin'  around  the  country  fightin'  it  out  by  his  lone 
some.  I  call  it  rank  selfishness ! " 

"  He  sure  ought  to  have  give  us  a  chancst  to  claw  the 
hair  outen  that  damned  Corrigan  feller!"  complained 
Weaver.  "  In  some  ways,  though,  I'm  sorta  glad  the 
damned  mine  was  blew  up.  'Firebrand'  would  have 
sure  got  a-hold  of  her  some  day,  an'  then  we'd'be  clawin' 
at  the  bowels  of  the  earth  instid  of  galivantin'  around 
on  our  cayuses  like  gentlemen.  I  reckon  things  is  all 
for  the  best." 

The  two  had  come  in  from  the  river  range  ostensibly 
to  confer  with  Trevison  regarding  their  work,  but  in 
reality  to  satisfy  their  curiosity  over  Trevison's  move 
ments.  There  was  a  deep  current  of  concern  for  him 
under  their  accusations. 

They  had  found  the  ranchhouse  dark  and  deserted. 

290 


THE  FIGHT  291 


But  the  office  door  was  open  and  they  had  entered, 
prepared  supper,  ate  with  a  more  than  ordinary  min 
gling  of  conversation  with  their  food,  and  not  lighting 
the  lamps  had  gone  out  on  the  gallery  for  a  smoke. 

"He  ain't  done  any  sleepin'  to  amount  to  much  in 
the  last  forty-eight  hours,  to  my  knowin',"  remarked 
Barkwell;  "unless  he's  done  his  sleepin'  on  the  run  — 
an'  that  ain't  in  no  ways  a  comfortable  way.  He's 
sure  to  be  driftin'  in  here,  soon." 

"  This  here  country's  goin'  to  hell,  certain !  "  declared 
Weaver,  after  an  hour  of  silence.  "  She's  gettin'  too 
eastern  an'  flighty.  Railroads  an'  dams  an'  hotels  with 
bath  tubs  for  every  six  or  seven  rooms,  an'  resterawnts 
with  filleedegree  palms  an'  leather  chairs  an'  slick  eats 
is  eatin'  the  gizzard  outen  her.  Railroads  is  all  right 
in  their  place  —  which  is  where  folks  ain't  got  no 
cayuses  to  fork  an'  therefore  has  to  hoof  it  —  or  —  or 
ride  the  damn  railroad." 

"Correct!"  agreed  Barkwell;  "she's  a-goin'  the 
way  Rome  went  —  an  Babylone  —  an'  Cincinnati  — 
after  I  left.  She  runs  to  a  pussy-cafe  aristocracy  — 
an*  napkins." 

"She'll  be  plumb  ruined  —  follerin'  them  foreign 
styles.  The  Uhmerican  people  ain't  got  no  right  to 
adopt  none  of  them  new-fangled  notions."  Weaver 
stared  glumly  into  the  darkening  plains. 

They  aired  their  discontent  long.  Directed  at  the 
town  it  relieved  the  pressure  of  their  resentment  over 
Trevison's  habit  of  depending  upon  himself.  For, 
secretly,  both  were  interested  admirers  of  Manti's  grow 
ing  importance. 


292  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

Time  was  measured  by  their  desires.  Sometime  be 
fore  midnight  Barkwell  got  up,  yawned  and  stretched. 

"  Sleep  suits  me.  If  '  Firebrand'  ain't  reckonin'  on  a 
guardian,  I  ain't  surprisin'  him  none.  He's  mighty 
close-mouthed  about  his  doin's,  anyway." 

''You're  shoutin'.  I  ain't  never  seen  a  man  any 
stingier  about  hidin'  away  his  doin's.  He  just  nacherly 
hawgs  all  the  trouble." 

Weaver  got  up  and  sauntered  to  the  far  end  of  the 
gallery,  leaning  far  out  to  look  toward  Manti.  His 
sharp  exclamation  brought  Barkwell  leaping  to  his  side, 
and  they  both  watched  in  perplexity  a  faint  glow  in  the 
sky  in  the  direction  of  the  town.  It  died  down  as  they 
watched. 

"Fire  — looks  like,"  Weaver  growled.  "We're 
always  too  late  to  horn  in  on  any  excitement." 

"  Uh,  huh,"  grunted  Barkwell.  He  was  staring 
intently  at  the  plains,  faintly  discernable  in  the  star 
light.  "  There's  horses  out  there,  Jud !  Three  or 
four,  an'  they're  comin'  like  hell!" 

They  slipped  off  the  gallery  into  the  shadow  of  some 
trees,  both  instinctively  feeling  of  their  holsters.  Stand 
ing  thus  they  waited. 

The  faint  beat  of  hoofs  came  unmistakably  to  them. 
They  grew  louder,  drumming  over  the  hard  sand  of 
the  plains,  and  presently  four  dark  figures  loomed  out 
of  the  night  and  came  plunging  toward  the  gallery. 
They  came  to  a  halt  at  the  gallery  edge,  and  were 
about  to  dismount  when  Barkwell's  voice,  cold  and 
truculent,  issued  from  the  shadow  of  the  trees : 

"What's  eatin'  you  guys?" 


THE  FIGHT  293 


There  was  a  short,  pregnant  silence,  and  then  one 
of  the  men  laughed. 

"Who  are  you?"  He  urged  his  horse  forward. 
But  he  was  brought  to  a  quick  halt  when  Barkwell's 
voice  came  again : 

"Talk  from  where  you  are!" 

"  That  goes,"  laughed  the  man.     "  Trevison  here  ?  " 

"What  you  wantin'  of  him?" 

"  Plenty.  We're  deputies.  Trevison  burned  the 
courthouse  and  the  bank  tonight  —  and  killed  Braman. 
We're  after  him." 

"Well,  he  ain't  here."  Barkwell  laughed.  "Burned 
the  courthouse,  did  he?  An'  the  bank?  An'  killed 
Braman?  Well,  you  got  to  admit  that's  a  pretty  good 
night's  work.  An'  you're  wantin'  him!"  Barkwell's 
voice  leaped;  he  spoke  in  short,  snappy,  metallic  sen 
tences  that  betrayed  passion  long  restrained,  breaking 
his  self-control.  "You're  deputies,  eh?  Corrigan's 
whelps!  Sneaks!  Coyotes!  Well,  you  slope  —  you 
hear?  When  I  count  three,  I  down  you !  One  !  Two ! 
Three ! " 

His  six-shooter  stabbed  the  darkness  at  the  last  word. 
And  at  his  side  Weaver's  pistol  barked  viciously.  But 
the  deputies  had  started  at  the  word  "  One,"  and  though 
Barkwell,  noting  the  scurrying  of  their  horses,  cut  the 
final  words  sharply,  the  four  figures  "were  vague  and 
shadowy  when  the  first  pistol  shot  smote  the  air.  Not 
a  report  floated  back  to  the  ears  of  the  two  men.  They 
watched,  with  grim  pouts  on  their  lips,  until  the  men 
vanished  in  the  star  haze  of  the  plains.  Then  Bark- 
well  spoke,  raucously: 


294  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

"  Well,  we've  broke  in  the  game,  Jud.  We're  Simon- 
pure  outlaws  —  like  our  boss.  I  got  one  of  them  scum 
—  I  seen  him  grab  leather.  We'll  all  get  in,  now. 
They're  after  our  boss,  eh?  Well,  damn  'em,  we'll 
show  'em !  They's  eight  of  the  boys  on  the  south  fork. 
You  get  'em,  bring  'em  here  an'  get  rifles.  I'll  hit  the 
breeze  to  the  basin  an'  rustle  the  others!"  He  was 
running  at  the  last  word,  and  presently  two  horses 
raced  out  of  the  corral  gates,  clattered  past  the  bunk- 
house  and  were  swallowed  in  the  vast,  black  space. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  entire  outfit  —  twenty  men 
besides  Barkwell  and  Weaver  —  left  the  ranchhouse 
and  spread,  fan-wise,  over  the  plains  west  of  Manti. 

They  lost  all  sense  of  time.  Several  of  them  had 
ridden  to  Manti,  making  a  round  of  the  places  that 
were  still  open,  but  had  returned,  with  no  word  of 
Trevison.  Corrigan  had  claimed  to  have  seen  him. 
But  then,  a  man  told  his  questioner,  Corrigan  claimed 
Trevison  had  choked  the  banker  to  death.  He  could 
believe  both  claims,  or  neither.  So  far  as  the  man 
himself  was  concerned,  he  was  not  going  to  commit 
himself.  But  if  Trevison  had  done  the  job,  he'd  done 
it  well.  The  seekers  after  information  rode  out  of 
Manti  on  the  run.  At  some  time  after  midnight  the 
entire  outfit  was  grouped  near  Clay  Levins'  house. 

They  held  a  short  conference,  and  then  Barkwell  rode 
forward  and  hammered  on  the  door  of  the  cabin. 

"We're  wantin'  Clay,  ma'am,"  said  Barkwell  in 
answer  to  the  scared  inquiry  that  filtered  through  the 
closed  door.  "  It's  the  Diamond  K  outfit." 


THE  FIGHT  295 


"What  do  you  want  him  for?" 

"  We  was  thinkin'  that  mebbe  he'd  know  where  *  Fire 
brand'  is.  *  Firebrand'  is  sort  of  lost,  I  reckon." 

The  door  flew  open  and  Mrs.  Levins,  like  a  pale 
ghost,  appeared  in  the  opening.  "Trevison  and  Clay 
left  here  tonight.  I  didn't  look  to  see  what  time.  Oh, 
I  hope  nothing  has  happened  to  them!  " 

They  quieted  her  fears  and  fled  out  into  the  plains 
again,  charging  themselves  with  stupidity  for  not  being 
more  diplomatic  in  dealing  with  Mrs.  Levins.  During 
the  early  hours  of  the  morning  they  rode  again  to  the 
Diamond  K  ranchhouse,  thinking  that  perhaps  Trev 
ison  had  slipped  by  them  and  returned.  But  Trevison 
had  not  returned,  and  the  outfit  gathered  in  the  timber 
near  the  house  in  the  faint  light  of  the  breaking  dawn, 
disgusted,  their  horses  jaded. 

"  It's  mighty  hard  work  tryin'  to  be  an  outlaw  in  this 
damned  dude-ridden  country,"  wailed  the  disappointed 
Weaver.  "Outlaws  usual  have  a  den  or  a  cave  or  a 
mountain  fastness,  or  somethin',  anyhow  —  accordin' 
to  all  the  literchoor  I've  read  on  the  subject.  If  '  Fire 
brand's  '  got  one,  he's  mighty  bashful  about  mentionin' 
it." 

uOh,  Lord!"  exclaimed  Barkwell,  weakly.  "  My 
brains  is  sure  ready  for  the  mourners  I  Where's  '  Fire 
brand  '  ?  Why,  where  would  you  expect  a  man  to  be 
that'd  burned  up  a  courthouse  an'  a  bank  an'  salivated 
a  banker  ?  He'd  be  hidin'  out,  wouldn't  he,  you  mis'able 
box-head!  Would  he  come  driftin'  back  to  the  home 
ranch,  an'  come  out  when  them  damn  deputies  come 
along,  bowin'  an'  scrapin'  an'  sayin' :  '  I'm  here,  gentle- 


296  "FIREBRAND"   TREASON 

men  —  I've  been  waitin'  for  you  to  come  an'  try  the 
rope  on  me,  so's  you'd  be  sure  to  get  a  good  fit ! '  Would 
he?  You're  mighty  right  he  —  wouldn't!  He'd  be 
populatin'  that  old  pueblo  that  he's  been  tellin'  me  for 
years  would  make  a  good  fort! "  His  horse  leaped  as 
he  drove  the  spurs  in,  cruelly,  but  at  the  distance  of  a 
hundred  yards  he  was  not  more  than  a  few  feet  in 
advance  of  the  others  —  and  they,  disregarding  the 
rules  of  the  game  —  were  trying  to  pass  him. 

"There  ain't  a  bit  of  sense  of  takin'  any  risk," 
objected  Levins  from  the  security  of  the  communal 
chamber,  as  Trevison  peered  cautiously  around  a  cor 
ner  of  the  adobe  house.  "  It'd  be  just  the  luck  of  one 
of  them  critters  if  they'd  pot  you." 

"  I'm  not  thinking  of  offering  myself  as  a  target  for 
them,"  the  other  laughed.  "They're  still  there,"  he 
added  a  minute  later  as  he  stepped  into  the  chamber. 
u  Them  shooting  you  as  they  did,  without  warning, 
seems  to  indicate  that  they've  orders  to  wipe  us  out, 
if  possible.  They're  deputies.  I  bumped  into  Corri- 
gan  right  after  I  left  the  bank  building,  and  I  suppose 
he  has  set  them  on  us." 

"I  reckon  so.  Seems  it  ain't  possible,  though," 
Levins  added,  doubtfully.  "  They  was  here  before  you 
come.  Your  Nigger  horse  ain't  takin'  no  dust.  I 
reckon  you  didn't  stop  anywheres?" 

"At  the  Bar  B."  Trevison  made  this  admission 
with  some  embarrassment. 

But  Levins  did  not  reproach  him  —  he  merely 
groaned,  eloquently. 


THE  FIGHT  297 


Trevison  leaned  against  the  opening  of  the  chamber. 
His  muscles  ached;  he  was  in  the  grip  of  a  mighty 
weariness.  Nature  was  protesting  against  the  great 
strain  that  he  had  placed  upon  her.  But  his  jaws  set 
as  he  felt  the  flesh  of  his  legs  quivering;  he  grinned 
the  derisive  grin  of  the  fighter  whose  will  and  courage 
outlast  his  physical  strength.  He  felt  a  pulse  of  con 
tempt  for  himself,  and  mingling  with  it  was  a  strange 
elation — the  thought  that  Rosalind  Benham  had 
strengthened  his  failing  body,  had  provided  it  with  the 
fuel  necessary  to  keep  it  going  for  hours  yet  —  as  it 
must.  He  did  not  trust  himself  to  yield  to  his  passions 
as  he  stood  there  —  that  might  have  caused  him  to 
grow  reckless.  He  permitted  the  weariness  of  his 
body  to  soothe  his  brain;  over  him  stole  a  great  calm. 
He  assured  himself  that  he  could  throw  it  off  any  time. 

But  he  had  deceived  himself.  Nature  had  almost 
reached  the  limit  of  effort,  and  the  inevitable  slow  re 
action  was  taking  place.  The  tired  body  could  be  forced 
on  for  a  while  yet,  obeying  the  lethargic  impulses  of  an 
equally  tired  brain,  but  the  break  would  come.  At  this 
moment  he  was  oppressed  with  a  sense  of  the  unreality 
of  it  all.  The  pueblo  seemed  like  an  ancient  city  of  his 
dreams;  the  adobe  houses  details  of  a  weird  phantas 
magoria  ;  his  adventures  of  the  past  forty-eight  hours 
a  succession  of  wrild  imaginings  which  he  now  reviewed 
with  a  sort  of  detached  interest,  as  though  he  had 
watched  them  from  afar. 

The  moonlight  shone  on  him;  he  heard  Levins 
exclaim  sharply:  "Your  arm's  busted,  ain't  it?" 

He  started,  swayed,  and  caught  himself,  laughing 


298  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

lowly,  guiltily,  for  he  realized  that  he  had  almost  fallen 
asleep,  standing.  He  held  the  arm  up  to  the  moonlight, 
examining  it,  dropping  it  with  a  deprecatory  word.  He 
settled  against  the  wall  near  the  opening  again. 

"  Hell !  "  declared  Levins,  anxiously,  "  you're  all  in !  " 

Trevison  did  not  answer.  He  stole  along  the  out 
side  wall  of  the  adobe  house  and  peered  out  into  the 
plains.  The  men  were  still  where  they  had  been  when 
the  shot  had  been  fired,  and  the  sight  of  them  brought 
a  cold  grin  to  his  face.  He  backed  away  from  the 
corner,  dropped  to  his  stomach  and  wriggled  his  way 
back  to  the  corner,  shoving  his  rifle  in  front  of  him. 
He  aimed  the  weapon  deliberately,  and  pulled  the  trig 
ger.  At  the  flash  a  smothered  cry  floated  up  to  him, 
and  he  drew  back,  the  thud  of  bullets  against  the  adobe 
walls  accompanying  him. 

"  That  leaves  seven,  Levins,"  he  said  grimly.  "  Looks 
like  my  trip  to  Santa  Fe  is  off,  eh  ?  "  he  laughed.  "Well, 
I've  always  had  a  yearning  to  be  besieged,  and  I'll  make 
it  mighty  interesting  for  those  fellows.  Do  you  think 
you  can  cover  that  slope,  so  they  can't  get  up  there 
while  I'm  reconnoitering?  It  would  be  certain  death 
for  me  to  stick  my  head  around  that  corner  again." 

At  Levins'  emphatic  affirmative  he  was  helped  to  the 
shelter  of  a  recess,  from  where  he  had  a  view  of  the 
slope,  though  himself  protected  by  a  corner  of  one  of 
the  houses;  placed  a  rifle  in  the  wounded  man's  hands, 
and  carrying  his  own,  vanished  into  one  of  the  dark 
passages  that  weaved  through  the  pueblo. 

He  went  only  a  short  distance.  Emerging  from  an 
opening  in  one  of  the  adobe  houses  he  saw  a  parapet 


THE  FIGHT  299 


wall,  sadly  crumpled  in  spots,  facing  the  plains,  and 
he  dropped  to  his  hands  and  knees  and  crept  toward  it, 
secreting  himself  behind  it  and  prodding  the  wall  cau 
tiously  with  the  barrel  of  his  rifle  until  he  found  a  joint 
in  the  stone  work  where  the  adobe  mud  was  rotted. 
He  poked  the  muzzle  of  the  rifle  through  the  crevice, 
took  careful  aim,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  hearing 
a  savage  curse  in  the  instant  following  the  flash.  He 
threw  himself  flat  immediately,  listening  to  the  spatter 
and  whine  of  the  bullets  of  the  volley  that  greeted  his 
shot.  They  kept  it  up  long — but  when  there  was  a 
momentary  cessation  he  crept  back  to  the  entrance  of 
the  adobe  house,  entered,  followed  another  passage  and 
came  out  on  the  ledge  farther  along  the  side  of  the 
pueblo.  He  halted  in  a  dense  shadow  and  looked 
toward  the  spot  where  the  men  had  been.  They  had 
vanished. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait,  and  he  sank 
behind  a  huge  block  of  stone  in  an  angle  of  the  ledge, 
noting  with  satisfaction  that  he  could  see  the  slope 
that  he  had  set  Levins  to  guard. 

"  I'm  the  boss  of  this  fort  if  I  don't  go  to  sleep," 
he  told  himself  grimly  as  he  stretched  out.  He  lay 
there,  watching,  while  the  moonlight  faded,  while  a 
gray  streak  in  the  east  slowly  widened,  presaging  the 
dawn.  Stretched  flat,  his  aching  muscles  welcoming 
the  support  of  the  cool  stone  of  the  ledge,  he  had  to 
fight  o-ff  the  drowsiness  that  assailed  him. 

An  hour  dragged  by.  He  knew  the  deputies  were 
watching,  no  doubt  having  separated  to  conceal  them 
selves  behind  convenient  boulders  that  dotted  the  plains 


3oo  "FIREBRAND"   TREASON 

at  the  foot  of  the  slope.  Or  perhaps  while  he  had  been 
in  the  passages  of  the  pueblo,  changing  his  position, 
some  of  them  might  have  stolen  to  the  numerous  crags 
and  outcroppings  of  rock  at  the  base  of  the  pueblo. 
They  might  now  be  massing  for  a  rush  up  the  slope. 
But  he  doubted  they  would  risk  the  latter  move,  for  they 
knew  that  he  must  be  on  the  alert,  and  they  had  cause 
to  fear  his  rifle. 

Once  he  rested  his  head  on  his  extended  right  arm, 
and  the  contact  was  so  agreeable  that  he  allowed  it  to 
remain  there  —  long.  He  caught  himself  in  time;  in 
another  second  he  would  have  been  too  late.  He  saw 
the  figure  of  a  man  on  the  slope  a  foot  or  two  below 
the  crest.  He  was  flat  on  his  stomach,  no  doubt  hav 
ing  crept  there  during  the  minutes  that  Trevison  had 
been  enjoying  his  rest,  and  at  the  instant  Trevison  saw 
him  he  was  raising  his  rifle,  directing  it  at  the  recess 
where  Levins  had  been  left,  on  guard. 

Trevison  was  wide  awake  now,  and  his  marksman 
ship  as  deadly  as  ever.  He  waited  until  the  man's  rifle 
came  to  a  level.  Then  his  own  weapon  spat  viciously. 
The  man  rose  to  his  knees,  reeling.  Another  rifle 
cracked  —  from  the  recess  where  Levins  was  concealed, 
this  time  —  and  the  man  sank  to  the  dust  of  the  slope, 
rolling  over  and  over  until  he  reached  the  bottom, 
where  he  stretched  out  and  lay  prone.  There  was  a 
shout  of  rage  from  a  section  of  rock-strewn  level  near 
the  foot  of  the  slope,  and  Trevison's  lips  curled  with 
satisfaction.  The  second  shot  had  told  him  that  a  fear 
he  had  entertained  momentarily  was  unfounded  — 
Levins  was  apparently  quite  alive. 


THE  FIGHT  301 


He  raised  himself  cautiously,  backed  away  from  the 
rock  behind  which  he  had  been  concealed,  and  wheeled, 
intending  to  join  Levins.  A  faint  sound  reached  his 
ears  from  the  plains,  and  he  faced  around  again,  to  see 
a  group  of  horsemen  riding  toward  the  pueblo.  They 
were  coming  fast,  racing  ahead  of  a  dust  cloud,  and 
were  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant.  But  Trev- 
ison  knew  them,  and  stepped  boldly  out  to  the  edge 
of  the  stone  ledge  waving  his  hat  to  them,  laughing 
full-throatedly,  his  voice  vibrating  a  little  as  he  spoke : 

"Good  old  Barkwell!" 

"That's  him!" 

Barkwell  pulled  his  horse  to  a  sliding  halt  as  he  saw 
the  figure  on  the  pueblo,  outlined  distinctly  in  the  clear 
white  light  of  the  dawn. 

"He's  all  right!"  he  declared  to  the  others  as  they 
followed  his  example  and  drew  their  beasts  down. 
"Them's  some  of  the  scum  that's  been  after  him,"  he 
added  as  several  horsemen  swept  around  the  far  si'de 
of  the  pueblo.  "  It  was  them  we  heard  shootin'."  The 
outfit  sat  silent  on  their  horses  and  watched  the  men 
ride  over  the  plains  toward  another  group  of  horsemen 
that  the  Diamond  K  men  had  observed  some  time 
before  riding  toward  the  pueblo. 

"Yep!"  Barkwell  said,  now;  "that  other  bunch  is 
deputies,  too.  It's  mighty  plain.  This  bunch  rounded 
up  'Firebrand'  an'  sent  some  one  back  for  reinforce 
ments."  He  swept  the  Diamond  K  outfit  with  a  snarl 
ing  smile.  "They're  goin'  to  need  'em,  too!  I  reckon 
we'd  better  wait  for  them  to  play  their  hand.  It's  about 


3Q2  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

a  stand  off  in  numbers.  We  don't  stand  no  slack,  boys. 
We're  outlawed  already,  from  the  rukus  of  last  night, 
an7  if  they  start  anything  we've  got  to  wipe  'em  out ! 
You  heard  'em  shootin'  at  the  boss,  an'  they  ain't  no 
pussy-kitten  bunch !  I'll  do  the  gassin'  —  if  there's  any 
to  be  done  —  an'  when  I  draw,  you  guys  do  your 
damnedest!  " 

The  outfit  set  itself  to  wait.  Over  on  the  edge  of 
the  pueblo  they  could  see  Trevison.  He  was  bending 
over  something,  and  when  they  saw  him  stoop  and  lift 
the  object,  heaving  it  to  his  shoulder  and  walking  away 
with  it,  a  sullen  murmur  ran  over  the  outfit,  and  lips 
grew  stiff  and  white  with  rage. 

"  It's  Clay  Levins,  boys !  "  said  Barkwell.  "  They've 
plugged  him !  Do  you  reckon  we've  got  to  go  back 
to  Levins'  shack  an'  tell  his  wife  that  we  let  them 
skunks  get  away  after  makin'  orphants  of  her  kids?" 

"  I'm  jumpin' !  "  shrieked  Jud  Weaver,  his  voice  com 
ing  chokingly  with  passion.  "  I  ain't  waitin'  one  damned 
minute  for  any  palaver !  Either  them  deputies  is  wiped 
out,  or  I  am !  "  He  dug  the  spurs  into  his  horse,  draw 
ing  his  six-shooter  as  the  animal  leape'd. 

Weaver's  horse  led  the  outfit  by  only  three  or  four 
jumps,  and  they  swept  over  the  level  like  a  devasting 
cyclone,  the  spiral  dust  cloud  that  rose  behind  them 
following  them  lazily,  sucked  along  by  the  wind  of 
their  passing. 

The  group  of  deputies  had  halted;  they  were  sitting 
tense  and  silent  in  their  saddles  when  the  Diamond  K 
outfit  came  up,  slowing  down  as  they  drew  nearer,  and 
halting  within  ten  feet  of  the  others,  spreading  out  in 


THE  FIGHT  303 


a  crude  semi-circle,  so  that  each  man  had  an  un 
obstructed  view  of  the  deputies. 

Barkwell  had  no  chance  to  talk.  Before  he  could 
get  his  breath  after  pulling  his  horse  down,  Weaver, 
his  six-shooter  in  hand,  its  muzzle  directed  fairly  at 
Gieger,  who  was  slightly  in  advance  of  his  men,  fumed 
forth : 

"  What  in  hell  do  you-all  mean  by  tryin'  to  herd- 
ride  our  boss?  Talk  fast,  you  eagle-beaked  turkey 
buzzard,  or  I  salivates  you  rapid!" 

The  situation  was  one  of  intense  delicacy.  Gieger 
might  have  averted  the  threatening  clash  with  a  judi 
cious  use  of  soft,  placating  speech.  But  it  pleased  him 
to  bluster. 

"We  are  deputies,  acting  under  orders  from  the 
court.  We  are  after  a  murderer,  and  we  mean  to  get 
him  !  "  he  said,  coldly. 

"  Deputies!  Hell!"  Barkwell's  voice  rose,  sharply 
scornful  and  mocking.  "Deputies!  Crooks!  Gun- 
fighters  !  Pluguglies !  "  His  eyes,  bright,  alert,  gleam 
ing  like  a  bird's,  were  roving  over  the  faces  in  the 
group  of  deputies.  "A  damn  fine  bunch  of  guys  to 
represent  the  law !  There's  Dakota  Dick,  there !  Tin 
horn,  rustler!  There's  Red  Classen!  Stage  robber! 
An'  Pepper  Ridgely,  a  plain,  ornery  thief!  An'  Kid 
Dorgan,  a  sneakin'  killer!  An'  Buff  Keller,  an'  Andy 
Watts,  an'  Pig  Mu^ley,  an'  —  oh,  hell!  Deputies! 
Law! Ah  — hah!" 

One  of  the  men  had  reached  for  his  holster. 
Weaver's  gun  barked  twice  and  the  man  pitched  limply 
forward  to  his  horse's  neck.  Other  weapons  flashed; 


3Q4  "FIREBRAND"  TREVISON 

the  calm  of  the  early  morning  was  rent  by  the  hoarse, 
gutteral  cries  of  men  in  the  grip  of  the  blood-lust,  the 
sustained  and  venomous  popping  of  pistols,  the  queer, 
sodden  impact  of  lead  against  flesh,  the  terror-snorts 
of  horses,  and  the  grunts  of  men,  falling  heavily. 

A  big  man  in  khaki,  loping  his  horse  up  the  slope 
of  an  arroyo  half  a  mile  distant,  started  at  the  sound 
of  the  first  shot  and  raced  over  the  crest.  He 
pulled  the  horse  to  an  abrupt  halt  as  his  gaze  swept 
the  plains  in  front  of  him.  He  saw  riderless  horses 
running  frantically  away  from  a  smoking  blot,  he  saw 
the  blot  streaked  with  level,  white  smoke-spurts  that 
ballooned  upward  quickly;  he  heard  the  dull,  flat  reports 
that  followed  the  smoke-spurts. 

It  seemed  to  be  over  in  an  instant.  The  blot  split 
up,  galloping  horses  and  yelling  men  burst  out  of  it. 
The  big  man  had  reached  the  crest  of  the  arroyo  at  the 
critical  second  in  which  the  balance  of  victory  wavers 
uncertainly.  With  thrusting  chin,  lips  in  a  hideous  pout, 
and  with  sullen,  blazing  eyes,  he  watched  the  battle  go 
against  him.  Fifteen  cowboys  —  he  counted  them,  de 
liberately,  coldly,  despite  the  rage-mania  that  had  seized 
him  —  were  spurring  after  eight  other  men  whom  he 
knew  for  his  own.  As  he  watched  he  saw  two  of  these 
tumble  from  their  horses.  And  at  a  distance  he  saw 
the  loops  of  ropes  swing  out  to  enmesh  four  more  — 
who  were  thrown  and  dragged;  he  watched  darkly  as 
the  remaining  two  raised  their  hands  above  their  heads. 
Then  his  lips  came  out  of  their  pout  and  were  wreathed 
in  a  bitter  snarl. 


THE  FIGHT  305 


"Licked!  "  he  muttered.  "Twelve  put  out  of  busi 
ness.  But  there's  thirty  more  —  if  the  damn  fools  have 
come  in  to  town !  That's  two  to  one !  "  He  laughed, 
wheeled  his  horse  toward  Manti,  rode  a  few  feet  down 
the  slope  of  the  arroyo,  halted  and  sat  motionless  in 
the  saddle,  looking  back.  He  smiled  with  cold  satis 
faction.  "Lucky  for  me  that  cinch  strap  broke,"  he 
said. 

Trevison  was  placing  Levins'  limp  form  across  the 
saddle  on  Nigger's  back  when  the  faint  morning  breeze 
bore  to  his  ears  the  report  of  Weaver's  pistol.  A  rat 
tling  volley  followed  the  first  report,  and  Trevison  led 
Nigger  close  to  the  edge  of  the  ledge  in  time  to  observe 
the  battle  as  Corrigan  had  seen  it.  He  hurried  Nigger 
down  the  slope,  but  he  had  to  be  careful  with  his  bur 
den.  Reaching  the  level  he  lifted  Levins  off,  laid  him 
gently  on  the  top  of  a  huge  flat  rock,  and  then  leaped 
into  the  saddle  and  sent  Nigger  tearing  over  the  plains 
toward  the  scene  of  the  battle. 

It  was  over  when  he  arrived.  A  dozen  men  were 
lying  in  the  tall  grass.  Some  were  groaning,  writhing; 
others  were  quiet  and  motionless.  Four  or  five  of 
them  were  arrayed  in  chaps.  His  lips  grimmed  as  his 
gaze  swept  them.  He  dismounted  and  went  to  them, 
one  after  another.  He  stooped  long  over  one. 

"They've  got  Weaver,"  he  heard  a  voice  say.  And 
he  started  and  looked  around,  and  seeing  no  one  near, 
knew  it  was  his  own  voice  that  he  heard.  It  was  dry 
and  light  —  as  a  man's  voice  might  be  who  has  run 
far  and  fast.  He  stood  for  a  while,  looking  down  at 


3Q6  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

Weaver.  His  brain  was  reeling,  as  it  had  reeled  over 
on  the  ledge  of  the  pueblo  a  few  minutes  before,  when 
he  had  discovered  a  certain  thing.  It  was  not  a  weak 
ness;  it  was  a  surge  of  reviving  rage,  an  accession  of 
passion  that  made  his  head  swim  with  its  potency,  made 
his  muscles  swell  with  a  strength  that  he  had  not  known 
for  many  hours.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  felt  more 
like  crying.  His  emotions  seared  his  soul  as  a  white- 
hot  iron  sears  the  flesh;  they  burned  into  him,  scorching 
his  pity  and  his  impulses  of  mercy,  withering  them, 
blighting  them.  He  heard  himself  whining  sibilantly,  as 
he  had  heard  boys  whine  when  fighting,  with  eagerness 
and  lust  for  blows.  It  was  the  insensate,  raging  fury  of 
the  fight-madness  that  had  gripped  him,  and  he  sud 
denly  yielded  to  it  and  raised  his  head,  laughing  harshly, 
with  panting,  labored  breath. 

Barkwell  rode  up  to  him,  speaking  hoarsely:  "We 
come  pretty  near  wipin'  'em  out,  *  Firebrand ! '  " 

He  looked  up  at  his  foreman,  and  the  latter's  face 
blanched.  "God!"  he  said.  He  whispered  to  a  cow 
boy  who  had  joined  him :  "  The  boss  is  pretty  near  loco 
—  looks  like!" 

"They've  killed  Weaver,"  muttered  Trevison. 
"He's  here.  They  killed  Clay,  too  —  he's  down  on  a 
rock  near  the  slope."  He  laughed,  and  tightened  his 
belt.  The  record  book  which  he  had  carried  in  his 
waistband  all  along  interfered  with  this  work,  and  he 
drew  it  out,  throwing  it  from  him.  "  Clay  was  worth 
a  thousand  of  them !  " 

Barkwell  got  down  and  seized  the  book,  watching 
Trevison  closely. 


THE  FIGHT  307 


"Look  here,  Boss,"  he  said,  as  Trevison  ran  to  his 
horse  and  threw  himself  into  the  saddle;  "you're 
bushed,  mighty  near — " 

If  Trevison  heard  his  first  words  he  had  paid  no 
attention  to  them.  He  could  not  have  heard  the  last 
words,  for  Nigger  had  lunged  forward,  running  with 
great,  long,  catlike  leaps  in  the  direction  of  Manti. 

"Good  God!"  yelled  Barkwell  to  some  of  the  men 
who  had  ridden  up;  "the  damn  fool  is  goin'  to  town! 
They'll  salivate  him,  sure  as  hell !  Some  of  you  stay 
here  —  two's  enough!  The  rest  of  you  come  along 


M 


with  me 

They  were  after  Trevison  within  a  few  seconds,  but 
the  black  horse  was  far  ahead,  running  without  hitch 
or  stumble,  as  straight  toward  Manti  as  his  willing 
muscles  and  his  loyal  heart  could  take  him. 

Corrigan  had  seen  the  black  bolt  that  had  rushed 
toward  him  out  of  the  spot  where  the  blot  had  been. 
He  cursed  hoarsely  and  drove  the  spurs  deep  into  the 
flanks  of  his  horse,  and  the  animal,  squealing  with  pain 
and  fury,  leaped  down  the  side  of  the  arroyo,  crossed 
the  bottom  in  two  or  three  bounds  and  stretched  away 
toward  Manti. 

A  cold  fear  had  seized  the  big  man's  heart.  It  made 
a  sweat  break  out  on  his  forehead,  it  caused  his  hand 
to  tremble  as  he  flung  it  around  to  his  hip  in  search  of 
his  pistol.  He  tried  to  shake  the  feeling  off,  but  it 
clung  insistently  to  him,  making  him  catch  his  breath. 
His  horse  was  big,  rangy,  and  strong,  but  he  forced  it 
to  such  a  pace  during  the  first  mile  of  the  ride  that  he 


3Q8  "FIREBRAND"  TREVISON 

could  feel  its  muscles  quivering  under  the  saddle  skirts. 
And  he  looked  back  at  the  end  of  the  mile,  to  see  the 
black  horse  at  about  the  same  distance  from  him;  pos 
sibly  the  distance  had  been  shortened.  It  seemed  to 
Corrigan  that  he  had  never  seen  a  horse  that  traveled 
as  smoothly  and  evenly  as  the  big  black,  or  that  ran 
with  as  little  effort.  Fie  began  to  loathe  the  black  with 
an  intensity  equaled  only  by  that  which  he  felt  for  his 
rider. 

He  held  his  lead  for  another  mile.  Glancing  back  a 
little  later  he  noted  with  a  quickening  pulse  that  the 
distance  had  been  shortened  by  several  hundred  feet, 
and  that  the  black  seemed  to  be  traveling  with  as  little 
effort  as  ever.  Also,  for  the  first  time,  Corrigan  noticed 
the  presence  of  other  riders,  behind  Trevison.  They 
were  topping  a  slight  rise  at  the  instant  he  glanced 
back,  and  were  at  least  a  mile  behind  his  pursuer. 

At  first,  mingled  with  his  fear,  Corrigan  had  felt 
a  slight  disgust  for  himself  in  yielding  to  his  sudden 
panic.  He  had  never  been  in  the  habit  of  running. 
He  had  been  as  proud  of  his  courage  as  he  had  been 
of  his  cleverness  and  his  keenness  in  planning  and  plot 
ting.  It  had  been  his  mental  boast  that  in  every  crisis 
his  nerve  was  coldest.  But  now  he  nursed  a  vagrant, 
furtive  hope  that  waiting  for  him  at  Manti  would  be 
some  of  those  men  whom  he  had  hired  at  his  own 
expense  to  impersonate  deputies.  The  presence  of  the 
hope  was  as  inexplicable  as  the  fear  that  had  set  him 
to  running  from  Trevison.  Two  or  three  weeks  ago 
he  would  have  faced  both  Trevison  and  his  men  and 
brazened  it  out.  But  of  late  a  growing  dread  of  the 


THE  FIGHT 


309 


man  had  seized  him.  Never  before  had  he  met  a  man 
who  refused  to  be  beaten,  or  who  had  fought  him  as 
recklessly  and  relentlessly. 

He  jeered  at  himself  as  he  rode,  telling  himself  that 
when  Trevison  got  near  enough  he  would  stand  and 
have  it  out  with  him — for  he  knew  that  the  fight  had 
narrowed  down  between  them  until  it  was  as  Trevison 
had  said,  man  to  man  —  but  as  he  rode  his  breath  came 
faster,  his  backward  glances  grew  more  frequent  and 
fearful,  and  the  cold  sweat  on  his  forehead  grew 
clammy.  Fear,  naked  and  shameful,  had  seized  him. 

Behind  him,  lean,  gaunt,  haggard;  seeing  nothing 
but  the  big  man  ahead  of  him,  feeling  nothing  but  an 
insane  desire  to  maim  or  slay  him,  rode  a  man  who  in 
forty-eight  hours  had  been  transformed  from  a  frank, 
guileless,  plain-speaking  human,  to  a  rage-drunken  sav 
age —  a  monomaniac  who,  as  he  leaned  over  Nigger's 
mane,  whispered  and  whined  and  mewed,  as  his  fore 
bears,  in  some  tropical  jungle,  voiced  their  passions 
when  they  set  forth  to  slay  those  who  had  sought  to 
despoil  them. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  DREGS 

WHEN  the  Benham  private  car  came  to  a  stop 
on  the  switch,  Rosalind  swung  up  the  steps  and 
upon  the  platform  just  as  J.  C.,  ruddy,  smiling  and 
bland,  opened  the  door.  She  was  in  his  arms  in  an 
instant,  murmuring  her  joy.  He  stroked  her  hair,  then 
held  her  off  for  a  good  look  at  her,  and  inquired, 
unctuously: 

"  What  are  you  doing  in  town  so  early,  my  dear?" 

"Oh!"  She  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder,  reluctant 
to  tell  him.  But  she  knew  he  must  be  told,  and  so 
she  steeled  herself,  stepping  back  and  looking  at  him, 
her  heart  pounding  madly. 

"Father;  these  people  have  discovered  that  Corri- 
gan  has  been  trying  to  cheat  them !  " 

She  would  have  gone  on,  but  the  sickly,  ghastly  pal 
lor  of  his  face  frightened  her.  She  swayed  and  leaned 
against  the  railing  of  the  platform,  a  sinking,  deadly 
apprehension  gnawing  at  her,  for  it  seemed  from  the 
expression  of  J.  C.'s  face  that  he  had  some  knowledge 
of  Corrigan's  intentions.  But  J.  C.  had  been  through 
too  many  crises  to  surrender  at  the  first  shot  in  this  one. 
Still  he  got  a  good  grip  on  himself  before  he  attempted 
to  answer,  and  then  his  voice  was  low  and  intoned  with 
casual  surprise : 

310 


THE  DREGS  311 


"Trying  to  cheat  them?    How,  my  dear?" 

"  By  trying  to  take  their  land  from  them.  You  had 
no  knowledge  of  it,  Father?" 

"Who  has  been  saying  that?"  he  demanded,  with  a 
fairly  good  pretense  of  righteous  anger. 

"Nobody.    But  I  thought  — I—    Oh,  thank  God !" 

"Well,  well,"  he  bluffed  with  faint  reproach; 
"things  are  coming  to  a  pretty  pass  when  one's  own 
daughter  is  the  first  to  suspect  him  of  wrong-doing." 

"I  didn't,  Father.  I  was  merely — I  don't  know 
what  I  did  think !  There  has  been  so  much  excitement ! 
Everything  is  so  upset !  They  have  blown  up  the  min 
ing  machinery,  burned  the  bank  and  the  courthouse; 
Judge  Lindman  was  abducted  and  found;  Braman  was 
killed — choked  to  death;  the  Vigilantes  are  —  " 

"Good  God!"  Benham  interrupted  her,  stagger 
ing  back  against  the  rear  of  the  coach.  "Who  has 
been  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  lawlessness?" 

"Trevison." 

He  gasped,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had  suspected 
what  her  answer  would  be. 

"Where  is  Corrigan?  Where's  Trevison?"  He 
demanded,  his  hands  shaking.  "  Answer  me !  Where 
are  they?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  the  girl  returned,  dully.  "  They 
say  Trevison  is  hiding  in  a  pueblo  not  far  from  the 
Bar  B.  And  that  Corrigan  left  here  early  this  morn 
ing,  with  a  number  of  deputies,  to  try  to  capture  him. 
And  those  men  —  "  She  indicated  the  horsemen  gath 
ered  in  front  of  the  Belmont,  whom  he  had  not  seen, 
"are  organizing  to  go  to  Trevison's  rescue.  They 


3i2  "FIREBRAND"   TREFISON 

have  discovered  that  Corrigan  murdered  Braman, 
though  Corrigan  accused  Trevison." 

J.  C.  flattened  himself  against  the  rear  wall  of  the 
coach  and  looked  with  horror  upon  the  armed  riders. 
There  were  forty  or  fifty  of  them  now,  and  others  were 
joining  the  group.  "Where's  Judge  Lindman?"  he 
faltered.  "Can't  this  lawlessness  be  stopped ?" 

"  It  is  only  a  few  minutes  ago  that  Judge  Lindman 
was  dragged  from  a  shed  into  which  he  had  been  forced 
by  Corrigan  —  after  being  beaten  by  him.  He  made 
a  public  confession  of  his  part  in  the  attempted  fraud, 
and  charged  Corrigan  with  coercing  him.  Those  men 
are  aroused,  Father.  I  don't  know  what  the  end  will 
be,  but  I  am  afraid  —  I'm  afraid  they'll  —  " 

"  I  shall  give  the  engineer  orders  to  pull  my  car  out 
of  here!"  J.  C.'s  face  was  chalky  white. 

"No,  no!"  cried  the  girl,  sharply.  "That  would 
make  them  think  you  were —  Don't  run,  Father!" 
she  begged,  omitting  the  word  which  she  dreaded  to 
think  might  become  attached  to  him  should  he  go  away, 
now  that  some  of  them  had  seen  him.  "We'll  stand 
our  ground,  Father.  If  Corrigan  has  done  those  things 
he  deserves  to  be  punished!"  Her  lips,  white  and 
stiff,  closed  firmly. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said;  "that's  right  —  we  won't  run." 
But  he  drew  her  inside,  despite  her  objections,  and 
from  a  window  they  watched  the  members  of  the  Vigi 
lantes  gathering,  bristling  with  weapons,  a  sinister 
and  ominous  arm  of  that  law  which  is  the  dread  and 
horror  of  the  evil-doer. 

There  came  a  movement,  concerted,  accompanied  by 


THE  DREGS  313 


a  low  rumble  as  of  waves  breaking  on  a  rocky  shore. 
It  brought  the  girl  out  of  her  chair,  through  the  door 
and  upon  the  car  platform,  where  she  stood,  her  hands 
clasped  over  her  breast,  her  breath  coming  gaspingly. 
His  knees  knocking  together,  his  face  the  ashen  gray 
of  death,  Benham  stumbled  after  her.  He  did  not 
want  to  go;  did  not  care  to  see  this  thing — what  might 
happen  —  what  his  terror  told  him  would  happen;  but 
he  was  forced  out  upon  the  platform  by  the  sheer  urge 
of  a  morbid  curiosity  that  there  was  no  denying;  it 
had  laid  hold  of  his  soul,  and  though  he  cringed  and 
shivered  and  tottered,  he  went  out,  standing  close  to 
the  iron  rail,  gripping  it  with  hands  that  grew  blueish- 
white  around  the  knuckles;  watching  with  eyes  that 
bulged,  his  lips  twitching  over  soundless  words.  For 
he  could  not  hold  himself  guiltless  in  this  thing;  it  could 
not  have  happened  had  he  tempered  his  smug  compla 
cence  with  thoughts  of  justice.  He  groaned,  gibbering, 
for  he  stood  on  the  brink  at  this  minute,  looking  down 
at  the  lashing  sea  of  retribution. 

The  girl  paid  no  attention  to  him.  She  was  watch 
ing  the  men  down  the  street.  The  concerted  movement 
had  come  from  them.  Nearly  a  hundred  riders  were 
on  the  move.  Lefingwell,  huge,  grim,  led  them  down 
the  street  toward  the  private  car.  For  an  instant  the 
girl  felt  a  throb  of  terror,  thinking  that  they  might 
have  designs  on  the  man  who  stood  at  the  railing  near 
her,  unable  to  move  —  for  he  had  the  same  thought 
She  murmured  thankfully  when  they  wheeled,  and  with 
out  looking  in  her  direction  loped  their  horses  toward 
a  wide,  vacant  space  between  some  buildings,  which  led 


FIREBRAND"  TREASON 


out  into  the  plains,  and  through  which  she  had  ridden 
often  when  entering  Manti.  Watching  the  men,  shud 
dering  at  the  ominous  aspect  they  presented,  she  saw 
a  tremor  run  through  them  —  as  though  they  all  formed 
one  body.  They  came  to  a  sudden  stop.  She  heard  a 
ripple  of  sound  arise  from  them,  amazement  and  antici 
pation.  And  then,  as  though  with  preconcerted  design, 
though  she  had  heard  no  word  spoken,  the  group 
divided,  splitting  asunder  with  a  precision  that  deep 
ened  the  conviction  of  preconcertedness,  ranging  them 
selves  on  each  side  of  the  open  space,  leaving  it  gaping 
barrenly,  unobstructed  —  a  stretch  of  windrowed  alkali 
dust,  deep,  light  and  feathery. 

Silence,  like  a  stroke,  fell  over  the  town.  The  girl 
saw  people  running  toward  the  open  space,  but  they 
seemed  to  make  no  noise  —  they  might  have  been  dream 
people.  And  then,  noting  that  they  all  stared  in  one 
direction,  she  looked  over  their  heads.  Not  more  than 
four  or  five  hundred  feet  from  the  open  space,  and 
heading  directly  toward  it,  thundered  a  rider  on  a  tall, 
strong,  rangy  horse.  The  beast's  chest  was  foam- 
flecked,  the  white  lather  that  billowed  around  its  muzzle 
was  stained  darkly.  But  it  came  on  with  heart-break 
ing  effort,  giving  its  rider  its  all.  Behind  the  first  rider 
came  a  second,  riot  more  than  fifty  feet  distant  from 
the  other,  on  a  black  horse  which  ran  with  no  effort, 
seemingly,  sliding  along  with  great,  smooth  undula 
tions,  his  mighty  muscles  flowing  like  living  things  under 
his  glossy,  somber  coat. 

The  girl  saw  the  man  on  his  back  leaning  forward, 
a  snarling,  terrible  grin  on  his  face.  She  saw  the  first 


THE  DREGS  315 


rider  wheel  when  he  reached  the  edge  of  the  open 
space  near  the  waiting  Vigilantes,  bring  his  horse  to  a 
sliding  halt  and  face  toward  his  pursuer.  He  clawed  at 
a  hip  pocket,  drawing  a  pistol  that  flashed  in  the  first 
rays  of  the  morning  sun  —  it  belched  fire  and  smoke 
in  a  continuous  stream,  seemingly  straight  at  the  rider 
of  the  black  horse.  One  —  two  —  three  —  four  —  five 
—  six  times!  The  girl  counted.  But  the  first  man's 
hand  wabbled,  and  the  rider  of  the  black  horse  came 
on  like  a  demon  astride  a  black. bolt,  a  laugh  of  bitter 
derision  on  his  lips.  The  black  did  not  swerve.  Straight 
and  true  in  his  headlong  flight  he  struck  the  other  horse. 
They  went  down  in  a  smother  of  dust,  the  two  horses 
grunting,  scrambling  and  kicking.  The  girl  had  seen 
the  rider  of  the  black  horse  lunge  forward  at  the  instant 
of  impact;  he  had  thrown  himself  at  the  other  man 
as  she  had  seen  football  players  launch  themselves  at 
players  of  the  opposition,  and  they  had  both  reeled  out 
of  their  saddles  to  disappear  in  the  smother  of  dust. 

Men  left  the  fringe  of  the  living  wall  flanking  the 
open  space  and  seized  the  two  horses,  leading  them 
away.  The  smother  drifted,  and  the  girl  screamed  at 
sight  of  the  two  raging  things  that  rolled  and  burrowed 
in  the  deep  dust  of  the  street. 

They  got  up  as  she  watched  them,  springing  apart, 
hesitating  for  an  awful  instant  to  sob  breath  into  their 
lungs ;  then  they  rushed  together,  striking  bitter,  sledge 
hammer  blows  that  sounded  like  the  smashing  of  flat 
rocks,  falling  from  a  great  height,  on  the  surface  of 
water.  She  shrieked  once,  wildly,  beseeching  someone 


316  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

to  stop  them,  but  no  man  paid  any  attention  to  her  cry. 
They  sat  on  their  horses,  silent,  tense,  grim,  and  she 
settled  into  a  coma  of  terror,  an  icy  paralysis  gripping 
her.  She  heard  her  father  muttering  incoherently  at 
her  side,  droning  and  puling  something  over  and  over 
in  a  wailing  monotone — she  caught  it  after  a  while; 
he  was  calling  upon  his  God  —  in  an  hour  that  could 
not  have  been  were  it  not  for  his  own  moral  flaccidness. 

The  dust  under  the  feet  of  the  fighting  men  leveled 
under  their  shifting,  dragging  feet;  it  bore  the  print 
of  their  bodies  where  they  had  lain  and  rolled  in  it; 
erupting  volcanoes  belched  it  heavily  upward;  it  caught 
and  gripped  their  legs  to  the  ankles,  making  their  move 
ments  slow  and  sodden.  This  condition  favored  the 
larger  man.  He  lashed  out  a  heavy  fist  that  caught 
Trevison  full  and  fair  on  the  jaw,  and  the  latter's  face 
turned  ashy  white  as  he  sank  to  his  knees.  Corrigan 
stopped  to  catch  his  breath  before  he  hurled  himself 
forward,  and  this  respite,  brief  as  it  was,  helped  the 
other  to  shake  off  the  deadening  effect  of  the  blow. 
He  moved  his  head  slightly  as  Corrigan  swung  at  it, 
and  the  blow  missed,  its  force  pulling  the  big  man  off 
his  feet,  so  that  he  tumbled  headlong  over  his  adver 
sary.  He  was  up  again  in  a  flash  though,  for  he  was 
fresher  than  his  enemy.  They  clinched,  and  stood 
straining,  matching  strength  against  strength,  sheer, 
without  trickery,  for  the  madness  of  murder  was  in  the 
heart  of  one  and  the  desperation  of  fear  in  the  soul  of 
the  other,  and  they  thought  of  nothing  but  to  crush 
and  batter  and  pound. 

Corrigan's  strength  was  slightly  the  greater,  but  it 


THE  DREGS  317 


was  offset  by  the  other's  fury.  In  the  clinch  the  big 
man's  right  hand  came  up,  the  heel  of  the  palm  shoved 
with  malignant  ferocity  against  Trevison's  chin.  Cor- 
rigan's  left  arm  was  around  Trevison's  waist,  squeez 
ing  it  like  a  vise,  and  the  whole  strength  of  Corrigan's 
right  arm  was  exerted  to  force  the  other's  head  back. 
Trevison  tried  to  slip  his  head  sideways  to  escape  the 
hold,  but  the  effort  was  fruitless.  Changing  his  tac 
tics,  his  breath  lagging  in  his  throat  from  the  terrible 
pressure  on  it,  Trevison  worked  his  right  hand  into 
the  other's  stomach  with  the  force  and  regularity  of  a 
piston  rod.  The  big  man  writhed  under  the  punish 
ment,  dropping  his  hand  from  Trevison's  chin  to  his 
waist,  swung  him  from  his  feet  and  threw  him  from 
him  as  a  man  throws  a  bag  of  meal. 

He  was  after  him  before  he  landed,  but  the  other 
writhed  and  wriggled  in  the  air  like  a  cat,  and  when  the 
big  man  reached  for  him,  trying  again  to  clinch,  he 
evaded  the  arm  and  landed  a  crushing  blow  on  the 
other's  chin  that  snapped  his  head  back  as  though  it 
were  swung  from  a  hinge,  and  sent  him  reeling,  to  his 
knees  in  the  dust. 

The  watching  girl  saw  the  ring  of  men  around  the 
fighters  contract;  she  saw  Trevison  dive  headlong  at 
the  kneeling  man;  with  fingers  working  in  a  fury  of 
impotence  she  swayed  at  the  iron  rail,  leaning  far  over 
it,  her  eyes  strained,  her  breath  bated,  constricting  her 
lungs  as  though  a  steel  band  were  around  them.  For 
she  seemed  to  feel  that  the  end  was  near. 

She  saw  them,  locked  in  each  other's  embrace,  stag 
ger  to  their  feet.  Corrigan's  head  was  wabbling.  He 


3i 8  "FIREBRAND"  TREVISON 

was  trying  to  hold  the  other  to  him  that  he  might 
escape  the  lashing  blows  that  were  driven  at  his  head. 
The  girl  saw  his  hold  broken,  and  as  he  reeled,  catch 
ing  another  blow  in  the  mouth,  he  swung  toward  her 
and  she  saw  that  his  lips  were  smashed,  the  blood  from 
them  trickling  down  over  his  chin.  There  was  a  gleam 
of  wild,  despairing  terror  in  his  eyes  —  revealing  the 
dawning  consciousness  of  approaching  defeat,  complete 
and  terrible.  She  saw  Trevison  start  another  blow, 
swinging  his  fist  upward  from  his  knee.  It  landed  with 
a  sodden  squish  on  the  big  man's  jaw.  His  eyes  snapped 
shut,  and  he  dropped  soundlessly,  fa.ce  down  in  the  dust. 

For  a  space  Trevison  stood,  swaying  drunkenly,  look 
ing  down  at  his  beaten  enemy.  Then  he  drew  himself 
erect  with  a  mighty  effort  and  swept  the  crowd  with  a 
glance,  the  fires  of  passion  still  leaping  and  smoldering 
in  his  eyes.  He  seemed  for  the  first  time  to  see  the 
Vigilantes,  to  realize  the  significance  of  their  presence, 
and  as  he  wheeled  slowly  his  lips  parted  in  a  grin  of 
bitter  satisfaction.  He  staggered  around  the  form  of 
his  fallen  enemy,  his  legs  bending  at  the  knees,  his 
feet  dragging  in  the  dust.  It  seemed  to  the  girl  that 
he  was  waiting  for  Corrigan  to  get  up  that  he  might 
resume  the  fight,  and  she  cried  out  protestingly.  He 
wheeled  at  the  sound  of  her  voice  and  faced  her,  rock 
ing  back  and  forth  on  his  heels  and  toes,  and  the  glow 
of  dull  astonishment  in  his  eyes  told  her  that  he  was 
now  for  the  first  time  aware  of  her  presence.  He 
bowed  to  her,  gravely,  losing  his  balance  in  the  effort, 
reeling  weakly  to  recover  it. 

And  then  a  crush  of  men  blotted  him  out  —  the  ring 


THE  DREGS  319 


of  Vigilantes  had  closed  around  him.  She  saw  Bark- 
well  lunging  through  the  press  to  gain  Trevison's  side; 
she  got  a  glimpse  of  him  a  minute  later,  near  Trevi- 
son.  The  street  had  become  a  sea  of  jostling,  shoving 
men  and  prancing  horses.  She  wanted  to  get  away  — 
somewhere  —  to  shut  this  sight  from  her  eyes.  For 
though  one  horror  was  over,  another  impended.  She 
knew  it,  but  could  not  move.  A  voice  boomed  hoarsely, 
commandingly,  above  the  buzz  of  many  others  —  it 
was  Lefingwell's,  and  she  cringed  at  the  sound  of  it. 
There  was  a  concerted  movement;  the  Vigilantes  were 
shoving  the  crowd  back,  clearing  a  space  in  the  center. 
In  the  cleared  space  two  men  were  lifting  Corrigan  to 
his  feet.  He  was  reeling  in  their  grasp,  his  chin  on  his 
chest,  his  face  dust-covered,  disfigured,  streaked  with 
blood.  He  was  conquered,  his  spirit  broken,  and  her 
heart  ached  with  pity  for  him  despite  her  horror  for 
his  black  deeds.  The  loop  of  a  rope  swung  out  as 
she  watched;  it  fell  with  a  horrible  swish  over  Corri- 
gan's  head  and  was  drawn  taut,  swiftly,  and  a  hoarse 
roar  of  approval  drowned  her  shriek. 

She  heard  Trevison's  voice,  muttering  in  protest, 
but  his  words,  like  her  shriek,  were  lost  i»n  the  confusion 
of  sound.  She  saw  him  fling  his  arms  wide,  sending 
Barkwell  and  another  man  reeling  from  him ;  he  reached 
for  the  pistol  at  his  side  and  leveled  it  at  the  crowd. 
Those  nearest  him  shrank,  their  faces  blank  with  fear 
and  astonishment.  But  the  man  with  the  rope  stood 
firm,  as  did  Lefingwell,  grim,  his  face  darkening  with 
wrath. 

"This  is  the  law  actin'  here,  '  Firebrand,' "  he  said, 


320  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

his  voice  level.  "  You've  done  your  bit,  an'  you're 
due  to  step  back  an'  let  justice  take  a  hand.  This  here 
skunk  has  outraged  every  damned  rule  of  decency  an' 
honor.  He's  tried  to  steal  all  our  land;  he's  corrupted 
our  court,  nearly  guzzled  Judge  Lindman  to  death, 
killed  Braman  —  an'  Barkwell  says  the  bunch  of  plug- 
uglies  he  hired  to  pose  as  deputies,  has  killed  Clay 
Levins  an*  four  or  five  of  the  Diamond  K  men.  That's 
plenty.  We'd  admire  to  give  in  to  you.  We'll  do  any 
thing  else  you  say.  But  this  has  got  to  be  done." 

While  Lefingwell  had  been  talking  two  of  the  Vigi 
lantes  had  slipped  to  the  rear  of  Trevison.  As  Lefing 
well  concluded  they  leaped.  The  arms  of  one  man 
went  around  Trevison's-  neck;  the  other  man  lunged 
low  and  pinned  his  arms  to  his  sides,  one  hand  grasping 
the  pistol  and  wrenching  it  from  his  hand.  The  crowd 
closed  again.  The  girl  saw  Corrigan  lifted  to  the  back 
of  a  horse,  and  she  shut  her  eyes  and  hung  dizzily  to 
the  railing,  while  tumult  and  confusion  raged  around 
her. 

She  opened  her  eyes  a  little  later,  to  see  Barkwell 
and  another  man  leading  Trevison  into  the  front  door 
of  the  Castle.  The  street  around  the  car  was  deserted, 
save  for  two  or  three  men  who  were  watching  her  curi 
ously.  She  felt  her  father's  arms  around  her,  and  she 
was  led  into  the  car,  her  knees  shaking,  her  soul  sick 
with  the  horror  of  it  all. 

Half  an  hour  later,  as  she  sat  at  one  of  the  windows, 
staring  stonily  out  in  the  shimmering  sunlight  of  the 
street,  she  saw  some  of  the  Vigilantes  returning.  She 
shrank  back  from  the  window,  shuddering. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  CALM 

day  seemed  to  endure  for  an  age.  Rosalind 
did  not  leave  the  car;  she  did  not  go  near  her 
father,  shut  up  alone  in  his  apartment;  she  ate  noth 
ing,  ignoring  the  negro  attendant  when  he  told  her 
that  lunch  was  served,  huddled  in  a  chair  beside  an 
open  window  she  decided  a  battle.  She  saw  the  forces 
of  reason  and  justice  rout  the  hosts  of  hatred  and 
crime,  and  she  got  up  finally,  her  face  pallid,  but  reso 
lute,  secure  in  the  knowledge  that  she  had  decided 
wisely.  She  pitied  Corrigan.  Had  it  been  within  her 
power  she  would  have  prevented  the  tragedy.  And 
yet  she  could  not  blame  these  people.  They  were  play 
ing  the  game  honestly,  and  their  patience  had  been 
sadly  strained  by  one  player  who  had  persisted  in  break 
ing  the  rules.  He  had  been  swept  away  by  his  peers, 
which  was  as  fair  a  way  as  any  law  —  any  human  law 
—  could  deal  with  him.  In  her  own  East  he  would 
have  paid  the  same  penalty.  The  method  would  have 
been  more  refined,  to  be  sure;  there  would  have  been 
a  long  legal  squabble,  with  its  tedious  delays,  but  in 
the  end  Corrigan  would  have  paid.  There  was  a  retri 
butive  justice  for  all  those  who  infracted  the  rules  of 
the  game.  It  had  found  Corrigan. 

321 


322  "FIREBRAND"  TREVISON 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  she  washed  her 
face.  The  cool  water  refreshed  her,  and  with  reviving 
spirits  she  combed  her  hair,  brushed  the  dust  from  her 
clothing,  and  looked  into  a  mirror.  There  were  dark 
hollows  under  her  eyes,  a  haunting,  dreading  expres 
sion  in  them.  For  she  could  not  help  thinking  about 
what  had  happened  there  —  down  the  street  where  the 
Vigilantes  had  gone. 

She  dropped  listlessly  into  another  chair  beside  a 
window,  this  time  facing  the  station.  She  saw  her 
horse,  hitched  to  the  rail  at  the  station  platform,  where 
she  had  left  it  that  morning.  That  seemed  to  have 
been  days  ago  !  A  period  of  aching  calm  had  succeeded 
the  tumult  of  the  morning.  The  street  was  soundless, 
deserted.  Those  men  who  had  played  leading  parts  in 
the  tragedy  were  not  now  visible.  She  would  have 
deserted  the  town  too,  had  it  not  been  for  her  father. 
The  tragedy  had  unnerved  him,  and  she  must  stay 
with  him  until  he  recovered.  She  had  asked  the  porter 
about  him,  and  the  latter  had  reported  that  he  seemed 
to  be  asleep. 

A  breeze  carried  a  whisper  to  her  as  she  sat  at  the 
window : 

"Where's  'Firebrand'  now?"  said  a  voice. 

"  Sleepin'.  The  clerk  in  the  Castle  says  he's  makin' 
up  for  lost  time." 

She  did  not  bother  to  try  to  see  the  owners  of  the 
voices;  her  gaze  was  on  the  plains,  far  and  vast;  and 
the  sky,  clear,  with  a  pearly  shimmer  that  dazzled  her. 
She  closed  her  eyes.  She  could  not  have  told  how  long 
she  slept.  She  awoke  to  the  light  touch  of  the  porter, 


THE  CALM  323 


and  she  saw  Trevison  standing  in  the  open  doorway 
of  the  car. 

The  dust  of  the  battle  had  been  removed.  An  admir 
ing  barber  had  worked  carefully  over  him;  a  doctor 
had  mended  his  arm.  Except  for  a  noticeable  thin 
ness  of  the  face,  and  a  certain  drawn  expression  of 
the  eyes,  he  was  the  same  Trevison  who  had  spoken 
so  frankly  to  her  one  day  out  on  the  plains  when  he 
had  taken  her  into  his  confidence.  In  the  look  that  he 
gave  her  now  was  the  same  frankness,  clouded  a  lit 
tle,  she  thought,  by  some  emotion  —  which  she  could 
not  fathom. 

"I  have  come  to  apologize,"  he  said;  "for  various 
unjust  thoughts  with  which  I  have  been  obsessed." 
Before  she  could  reply  he  had  taken  two  or  three  swift 
steps  and  was  standing  over  her,  and  was  speaking  again, 
his  voice  vibrant  and  regretful:  "I  ought  to  have 
known  better  than  to  think  —  what  I  did  —  of  you.  I 
have  no  excuses  to  make,  except  that  I  was  insane  with 
a  fear  that  my  ten  years  of  labor  and  lonesomeness  were 
to  be  wasted.  I  have  just  had  a  talk  with  Hester  Har 
vey,  and  she  has  shown  me  what  a  fool  I  have  been. 
She  —  " 

Rosalind  got  up,  laughing  lowly,  tremulously.  "I 
talked  with  Hester  this  morning.  And  I  think  —  " 

"  She  told  you  —  "  he  began,  his  voice  leaping. 

"  Many  things."  She  looked  straight  at  him,  her 
eyes  glowing,  but  they  drooped  under  the  heat  of  his. 
"You  don't  need  to  feel  elated  over  it  —  there  were 
two  of  us."  She  felt  that  the  surge  of  joy  that  ran 
over  her  would  have  shown  in  her  face  had  it  not  been 


324  "FIREBRAND"  TREFISON 

for  a  sudden  recollection  of  what  the  Vigilantes  had 
done  that  morning.  That  recollection  paled  her  cheeks 
and  froze  the  smile  on  her  lips. 

He  was  watching  her  closely  and  saw  her  face  harden. 
A  shadow  passed  over  his  own.  He  thought  he  could 
see  the  hopelessness  of  staying  longer.  "A  woman's 
love,"  he  said,  gloomily,  "  is  a  wonderful  thing.  It 
clings  through  trouble  and  tragedy — never  faltering." 
She  looked  at  him,  startled,  trying  to  solve  the  enigma 
of  this  speech.  He  laughed,  bitterly.  "  That's  what 
makes  a  woman  superior  to  mere  man.  Love  exalts 
her.  It  makes  a  savage  of  a  man.  I  suppose  it  is 
*  good-bye.' '  He  held  out  a  hand  to  her  and  she  took 
it,  holding  it  limply,  looking  at  him  in  wonderment,  her 
heart  heavy  with  regret.  "I  wish  you  luck  and  hap 
piness,"  he  said.  "  Corrigan  is  a  man  in  spite  of  — 
of  many  faults.  You  can  redeem  him ;  you  —  " 

" Is  a  man!"  Her  hand  tightened  on  his;  he  could 
feel  her  tremble.  "Why — why  —  I  thought —  Didn't 
they  —  " 

u  Didn't  they  tell  you  ?  The  fools !  "  He  laughed 
derisively.  "They  let  him  go.  They  knew  I  wouldn't 
want  it.  They  did  it  for  me.  He  went  East  on  the 
noon  train  —  quite  alive,  I  assure  you.  I  am  glad  of 
it  —  for  your  sake." 

"For  my  sake!"  Her  voice  lifted  in  mingled  joy 
and  derision,  and  both  her  hands  were  squeezing  his 
with  a  pressure  that  made  his  blood  leap  with  a  longing 
to  possess  her.  "  For  my  sake !  "  she  repeated,  and  the 
emphasis  made  him  gasp  and  stiffen.  "  For  your  sake 
—  for  both  of  us,  Trevison !  Oh,  what  fools  we  were ! 


THE  CALM  325 


What  fools  all  people  are,  not  to  trust  and  believe ! " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  He  drew  her  toward  him, 
roughly,  and  held  her  hands  in  a  grip  that  made  her 
wince.  But  she  looked  straight  at  him  in  spite  of  the 
pain,  her  eyes  brimming  with  a  promise  that  he  could 
not  mistake. 

"  Can't  you  see?  "  she  said  to  him,  her  voice  quaver 
ing;  "must  I  tell  you?" 


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